


Beyond the Sea

by alreadysomeone



Category: JAG (TV 1995)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27152027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alreadysomeone/pseuds/alreadysomeone
Summary: Mac and Webb accidentally meet up while vacationing in a tropical locale; throw in a Speedo bathing suit, a topless beach, some Karaoke, and watch as the mayhem (and smut) ensues!
Relationships: Sarah MacKenzie/Clayton Webb





	Beyond the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story intending it to be a funny farce (I crack myself up sometimes --which I’m not sure is such a good thing!) but once I started writing, I got kind of attached to the storyline, so I just went with it. Anything you may find resembling a serious or plausible plot is purely coincidental and entirely unintentional.   
> Timeline: Through the Season Seven Finale, minus the final scene.

~ Night Three ~ Crazy Love

//MAC//

…we break our heated kiss, which had really been more of a dueling of wet tongues, lips and mouths, and we just stare at each other for a moment. Our heavy breathing is almost louder than the breezes in the coconut trees and the breaking waves on the beach near by.  
We smile at each other, and I let out a small laugh at the absolute un-believability of the situation. Just how did I find myself on a South Pacific island, in the hot, passionate embrace of Clayton Webb?

~ The scene gets those funny flashback waves across it, and we see Mac in her office, 11 days ago. ~

//MAC//

On somewhat of a whim, I’d picked up the phone and called the resort. I was ready for a vacation as soon as we’d wrapped up the Mustafa Atef tribunal and the search for Kabir Atef in Afghanistan. But with trying to catch up on the backlog of cases that had piled up while our attentions were elsewhere, there just wasn’t the time, and the months flew by with no break.

So, in the middle of a rainy DC November, this Marine was very ready to get someplace tropical, and fast. I was exhausted from the past year -- feeling bad about Mic, taking fire in Indonesia, dealing with terrorists, and the most exhausting -- the unending lack of resolution in my non-relationship relationship with Harm.

Once I’d confessed to Sturgis that I was in love with Harm, I felt a sense of relief. It was good to get it off my chest. It made me feel free in a way -- finally allowing myself to feel the emotions I’d been denying for so long.

But it’d been months since that slip of the tongue. 11 months, 14 days, 1 hour, 9 minutes, and 17 seconds to be exact, and even though Harm and I really had come a long way toward starting back “at the beginning” again, we just never got around to finishing *that* conversation.

The conversation that started years ago on the USS Watertown; the one I couldn’t find the words for when Harm left for the Patrick Henry; the one that Harm put a screeching stop to in Sydney; the one that heated up on the Admiral’s porch; the one that never happened after Harm was discharged from the hospital; the one that Harm didn’t have an answer for on the Guadalcanal.

Yeah, *that* conversation. And it’d been exhausting. I was tired of harboring those pent up, unacknowledged, and unresolved feelings; I was tired of it all. And maybe there’s just a point where you need to move on.

After all the time that’s passed and everything we’ve been through, I began to think that if it was that difficult for us to move beyond our partnership and attraction, maybe it wasn’t meant to be.

So with that emotional baggage weighing me down, I decided to pack some actual bags and head for the South Pacific. I wanted to get away from JAG, away from DC, and away from Harm. In a way, I wanted to get away from myself.

That in mind, I booked myself for five nights into the Beachcomber Resort, located on a *very* small island in the middle of the South Pacific. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going, and in my eagerness to get a fresh perspective and have a little fun, I giggled only a bit as I gave the reservation desk my name as “Mary Layton.”

And just who is Mary Layton? She’s my downstairs neighbor, a quiet, unassuming elementary school teacher, who could probably also use a tropical vacation. But little does she know that her name is now gracing the registration check-in card of the Beachcomber Resort.

And I’m sure she would be quite surprised to find out that someone using her name was about to make love with a real life spy.

~ The scene gets those funny flashback waves across it, as we shift back to the present to see Mac and Webb resume their passionate embrace. ~

//WEBB//

If Chegwidden could see me now -- all hot, sweaty, and panting with desire. Actually, I am very thankful to have the Admiral many thousands of miles away. But had I known that getting caught by Mac on a sandy beach while clad only in a Speedo bathing suit, and a skimpy one at that, would lead to this … I’d have booked a vacation a long time ago.

~The scene gets those funny flashback waves across it, and we see Webb in his office, 4 days ago. ~

//WEBB//

I ran background checks on the names of the other hotel guests one last time before leaving the office. I was still having a hard time believing that I was actually considering the word “vacation” in the same thought as myself.

But after interrogating Mustafa Atef, going through the tribunal, finding him dead in his cell, tracking the money trail to Russia and back, chasing Al Queda operatives through Afghanistan, and pursuing Kabir Atef, God knows I needed one.

It’s not often I get to really leave my work behind. Usually if I have time off I stay home simply because I travel so much for my job. When I do have those rare days off, I don’t really know what to do with myself and usually end up working anyway.

This time I decided to try something different, some *place* different. Someplace tropical, the very remote Beachcomber Resort to be exact.

I picked a resort with private bungalows over the water, a decent restaurant, and just enough organized activities so that I could have a solitary vacation, anticipating the other guests would participate in the daytime beach volleyball games and snorkeling trips, and the evening competitions of charades and Karaoke.

I chose the resort very carefully, completing research on just about every destination possibility. No one in our files had ever been to the Beachcomber, and the background checks on the staff were clear too. Just to be extra sure I could completely relax and have a shot at letting my guard down while I was there, I even checked out the other guests.

Only one of them raised a red flag -- an elementary school teacher from the DC area. But I decided that the chances of encountering her were slim, and I was sure I could easily avoid her. So I did my best to let it slide from my thoughts as I went home to finish packing and get some decent sleep in preparation for my long flights the next day.

~ Day One ~ Let’s Get Away From It All

//MAC//

It was an exhausting cross-country flight, followed by a brutally long passage over the Pacific. I had opted not to spend the extra money for first or even business class, so I was crammed into economy. The take home pay for a Marine lawyer, even a Lieutenant Colonel, isn’t that lucrative.

After suffering those long hours in the air, half of which were spent firmly declining the overt passes made at me by nearly every member of the Queensland baseball team – who were on the last leg of a South Pacific tournament tour – I was anxious to arrive at my destination.  
And after about 2 hours after getting off the plane, I was just about ready to show my cab driver exactly what a Marine could do to a guy when he not only gets lost on the way to the *one* resort on this side of the island, but makes his passenger change the tire by the side of the skinny two lane road.

So finally, after about *3 hours* I checked into the Beachcomber Resort.

//WEBB//

Traveling in first class as always, I arrived at the Beachcomber feeling quite fresh, considering the number of hours I’d spent in transit. But upon seeing the lobby, crawling with conch shells and tropical drinks with little umbrellas, I felt myself start to cringe and wish I hadn’t come.

I took a deep breath, reminding myself that this was exactly why I was here – it was the very last place anyone would expect to find Clayton Webb: someplace invitingly tacky and totally anonymous.

I proceeded to the registration desk and checked in as “Cabby Welton,” an airline pilot from Seattle anxious to get away from the rain, and headed to my bungalow to begin my v-, va-, va-, *vacation*. 

There, I’d said it. Vacation.

~ Day Two ~ Brick House

//MAC//

I was so relieved to finally get to the Beachcomber that I went directly to my bungalow on the water and hit the sack. I racked up 11 hours of deep sleep before regaining some semblance of consciousness at 7 in the morning.

It was the sound of the water that woke me up. A gentle lapping, reminding me that I was far away from JAG, and didn’t have to spare one thought to a certain Navy Commander, or wonder how I was going to try some Petty Officer’s dereliction of duty case.

I’d even managed to unload most of my cases on Singer, which gave me an extra reason to feel chipper in the sunny tropical morning.

Starving from my long night’s sleep, I headed for the Beachcomber’s restaurant, taking in the soft scent of the ocean, the lush scenery, and loving the feel of the moist air on my bare legs.

I dined on a hearty breakfast and was joined by Mitzi and Bob Walker from Conway, Arkansas who were just delighted to meet Mary Layton the elementary school teacher from DC.

I was having fun with my alter ego and went so far as to make up a long story, sure to elicit their southern sympathy, that involved leaving my no-good fiancée once and for all, looking for independence and relaxation in the South Pacific.

I told them I was spending my first day at the beach and watched with amusement as they exchanged furtive glances before reminding me that the beach was topless. I informed them that I would get all the more satisfaction out of the trip knowing that it would drive my ex- fiancée crazy if I were sunbathing topless, so I was planning on “baring it all” once I hit the sand.

I know men appreciate my figure – although my own feelings about my size have run the gamut from pubescent embarrassment, to a false sense of teenage empowerment, to young adult resentment, and finally, womanly acceptance that my breasts are just one part of who I am -- always remembering that US Marine is another part. So I knew I was going to elicit a leer from Bob with my whole “can’t wait to go topless, tee hee” routine.

I wasn’t disappointed either; Bob gave me an appreciative once-over just before Mitzi dragged him out the door headed for town and souvenir shopping.

Looking forward to my solitary day in the sun, I ordered an extra large non-alcoholic orange-passion-mango juice and arranged to have it brought to me on the beach in 45 minutes. 

Arriving at the beach, I staked out a spot halfway between the palm-lined backdrop and the clear blue water. Looking around at the honeymooning Japanese couple, and the retired, overly sun burnt, and very wrinkled Argentinean husband and wife, I shrugged and thought to myself, “Why not? I don’t know these people, they don’t know me, and I’ll never see them again.”

I wouldn’t drop my top in Australia because I didn’t want Mic to think I was doing it for him. This time I was going to do it just for me.

I untied the strings, took my bikini top off, and slathered on the sunscreen, which I found to be an oddly erotic and arousing act. Rubbing my own breasts with the cool cream while feeling the tropical sun beating down on me, totally exposed and out in the open, was really quite sensual.

So while I sat back and dozed on and off, I let my mind wander over the possibilities of a secret island rendezvous. After all, a woman has needs; and out here, far from home and work, a modern woman should feel free to give herself over to a vacation fling.

I just needed to find the right candidate.

After my arousing naptime dreams, I needed a quick dip in the water to cool off. The ocean was soothing, and invigorating all at the same time and I’m not sure it did much to calm my increasing libido.

Dipping my head in the water one last time to slick back my hair, I walked slowly back to my towel, relishing the feel of the sand between my toes and the sense of freedom I was feeling in the remote paradise.

Back on my towel, as I was reaching for my book, I saw his shadow make its way across my field of vision. And I heard his distinctive voice before I had a chance to look up.

“Well, well, well, Mac … you really do appear to be that 36-24-36 ‘brick house’ I always knew you were.”

Webb.

Somehow it didn’t surprise me to see him here. He has a way of turning up. But I mentally cursed him for sneaking up on me, and what kind of an opening line was that?

I sat up with a start, ready to show him just what damage this “brick house” could do. But whatever malice I had winding up inside me was immediately replaced with complete amusement and barely suppressed laughter.

As I got to my knees, ready to deliver the body blow, I found myself face to face with Webb himself. And when I say “Webb himself,” I mean Webb *himself*. If you know what I mean.  
There *he* was, right at eye level, wearing -- no let me re-phrase that – *poured into* an electric blue Speedo.

“Well, well, well yourself Webb,” I snickered.

After what I think was an attempt to put his hands in his non existent pants’ pockets, or it could have been a half-hearted attempt to cover himself, Webb crossed his arms defiantly.

“And just what would the CIA’s Assistant Deputy Director for ‘Wherever-It-Is-These-Days’ be doing at the Beachcomber Resort dressed in … that,” I said, getting to my feet and starting to enjoy this turning of the tables.

He may have caught me off guard and, well okay, let’s just say it … *topless*. But in what Webb was wearing, there was nearly nothing left to the imagination, and he might as well have been more naked than I was.

Even though I was keenly aware that my breasts were very much in full view, I could tell that under that cool Webb exterior, so uniquely Webb in his arrogant posture, he was struggling to maintain his superiority – and to not ogle my breasts.

That’s when I knew I had the upper hand, and I decided to play it to the fullest. Besides, I was kind of enjoying what I was seeing of Webb.

Not that I’d ever thought of him *that* way before, but you can’t but help consider the possibilities when a man is standing before you with only about an eighth of a yard of tight, stretchy fabric masking the “full monty.”

And what a “full” monty it was too. I’m not one to usually go around checking out what’s in men’s pants, but there was no denying what Webb had to offer.

As for the rest of him, it was hard to see his chest behind his defensively crossed arms, but the toned biceps, lower abs, and fine line of hair leading south were certainly appealing.

As we resumed our banter, I wondered if the tropical air had some kind of pheromones in it, because between getting turned on while applying my own sunscreen and checking out Webb, I was feeling some kind of sexual charge between us that I couldn’t quite understand.

//WEBB//

I slept fitfully the first night in my bungalow. I had strange dreams about Mustafa Atef and being aboard the Seahawk, and my mother telling me to pack clean underwear, and AJ punching me over and over. So I took advantage of my vacation situation and slept in as restful slumber finally came to me at about 7am. 

By 10:30, the bright sunlight coming in through the bungalow’s plentiful windows was enough to draw me out of my sleep. That, and the incessant chirping of some tropical, and no doubt brightly feathered, creature.

I took a quick shower and grabbed some fruit for breakfast from the restaurant’s buffet before starting a long walk around the property.

I told myself it was part of the relaxation I was supposed to be experiencing. But I knew I was casing the Beachcomber for hiding places, weak points of defense, unexpected guests, and to observe the workings of the resort to file away “just in case.”

I was also mentally checking off the guests I knew would be there: I heard the manager say that the Walkers from Arkansas had gone into town; I spotted Bengt and Inger Hallstad with an unfamiliar tinge of jealousy as they laughed and kissed intimately, eagerly crossing back to their bungalow; and Nick and Mike, the computer programmer twins from Northern California, were joking and renting snorkeling gear.

With just a few more guests to check off, I told myself I could really begin to loosen up as soon as I confirmed their presence.

Making my way along the swimming beach on the Beachcomber’s property, I spotted Kyoji and Machiko Arakawa, honeymooning from Japan, and Julio and Beatriz Quintana from Argentina.  
At the far end of the beach I could see the final guest on my list, Mary Layton, the schoolteacher from DC. She was walking back to her spot in the sand after a swim in the water, topless.

“Um-hmmm,” I mumbled appreciatively. If only I’d had teachers like *that* in school…  
Enjoying the view, I was contemplating moving in for a closer look, but ended up craning my neck and squinting hard in disbelief as the recognition hit me. Then I squinted hard as I realized that if I didn’t think fast, it would be Mac who’d be getting a closer look at *me*.

I’m used to working undercover in Europe and all over the world. And in many of those places, the men wear Speedos. If I wore giant American swimming trunks while on assignment, my cover would have been blown a thousand times.

So, while I’m normally pretty comfortable in a pair of skimpy, tight Speedos, I all of a sudden felt very exposed in them -- or rather, the lack of them. Wearing Speedos while undercover or among people I didn’t know was one thing, wearing them in front of Mac was another thing entirely.

In light of that fact, I hastily decided that it was better to go on the offensive and approach her first, before she realized I was here -- and in a Speedo.

I picked up my pace and reached her just as she was about to resume reading her book.  
“Well, well, well, Mac…you really do appear to be that 36-24-36 ‘brick house’ I always knew you were.”

I couldn’t resist. I had taken an educated guess at her size when I bought that dress for her to wear to the Sudanese Embassy party. But it had been my little inside joke to use the measurements from the Commodore’s song when she’d challenged me that day in Admiral Chegwidden’s office.

But believe me, that lady *is* stacked, and that’s a fact. On that beach, without her bikini top, she was definitely “holding nothin’ back.”

I think I underestimated her though because she was up in a split second, ready to commence some kind of Marine assault. Then she got this funny look on her face and I realized that whatever advantage I’d had in approaching her first was gone as soon as she’d gotten to her knees, face to face with my, um, *self*.

I started to put my hands in my pockets, but had to recover my error by just crossing my arms in front of me like a certain Navy Commander. ‘Great,’ I thought to myself, ‘now I’m channeling Rabb.’

I tried my best to forget the stark facts of my attire and concentrated on exuding confidence, reminding myself that Mac should be the embarrassed one, standing there bare-breasted.

But all I succeeded in doing was reminding myself that she was standing there *bare-breasted*.  
She threw a few sarcastic lines back at me. I swallowed hard and said lamely, “Stealing someone’s identity is a federal offence, you know.”

She smiled coolly and told me about her plan to “get away from it all,” which she pointed out wasn’t all that different than what I was doing.

And so I stood there like an awkward teenager, as she animatedly and confidently raved about the Beachcomber. She was practically jumping up and down, with her breasts moving freely and frequently in front of me, and I knew she knew exactly what she was doing.

I kept my arms crossed tight and thought about my taxes, and interrogating prisoners, and baseball statistics, although I really couldn’t tell you a damn thing about baseball. I was desperate for something analytical to occupy my blood flow lest I embarrass myself further.

But it was all I could do to keep my eyes on her face and not let them wander lustfully down her neck, past her throat to her smooth, round breasts.

By the time we said our farewells and agreed to stay out of each other’s way, I had my mind made up. This was war. If she was trying to elicit a response out of me as some kind of payback for interrupting her vacation and seeing her bare-chested, I swore she’d soon see who was the master of mind games.

~ Night Two ~ The Great Pretender 

//MAC//

While Webb and I left our ocean-side stand off agreeing to steer clear of each other, I couldn’t help but feel like we’d only just begun. I knew I’d made him uncomfortable, and knowing Webb, I suspected he wasn’t going to let it go that easily.

That night I ate in my bungalow, watching the sunset by myself, and I felt really glad to be away from Washington and the pressures of life and work there.

In spite of my Webb encounter, I was feeling more relaxed than I had in years. And maybe because of my run-in with Webb, I was feeling energized and confident. I’d stood my ground and felt that I had won the upper hand.

While I’d been confident of my skills as a Marine and as a lawyer for years, I knew I still had issues with relationships, and with men in general. As much as I’d have liked to think I was comfortable with my body and my womanhood, years of bad choices beginning too young of an age gave me enough self-knowledge to realize that my issues were more about me than about the men I picked -- or rather, the men I let pick me.

I concluded that the choices I’d made in the past few years were rarely about me, and more often about others making choices for me. Mic choosing that I marry him. Harm choosing that we not explore the feelings between us.

So on my remote Pacific island, feeling confident and emotionally balanced, this Marine wasn’t going to shy away from anyone or anything anymore. I was ready to be the one to do the choosing in my life.

“Bring it on,” I said out loud.

Charged up with my newfound energy and confidence, I changed into a short breezy skirt and halter-top, and walked in the balmy evening to the resort's main building.

As I passed the patio area that overlooked the water I could hear Derek, the activities director, announcing the evening’s group activity – Karaoke.

I smiled, challenging myself to join in. After all, this was the first night of the rest of my life, and I was positive Webb wouldn’t be caught dead there, so I stepped in and took a seat at a small table with Bob and Mitzi, who smiled big southern smiles as I joined them.

Derek waved at me with his friendly “cruise director” smile, and I realized that I was stuck whether or not I wanted to be there, so I sat back to enjoy the show; there was no backing out now.

First up was Inger, whose strange song choice of “Me and Mrs. Jones” turned out to be surprisingly good, and I wondered if she and Bengt were perhaps at the Beachcomber having an affair. When she finished, we all clapped and shouted supportively. I looked around the room when I heard an all too familiar voice hollering his praises, “Bravo!”

Webb.

“Damn him. He’s everywhere,” I muttered under my breath.

“What’s that hon?” Mitzi leaned over and questioned.

I didn’t reply right away, as I found myself locked in a staring contest with Webb. There was no way I was leaving. If he was uncomfortable, he’d have to be the one to vacate this vacation.

As Webb and I continued our war of wills, Mitzi followed my gaze and answered her own question, “Ohhh, Cabby Welton? He *is* good looking isn’t he?”

“Excuse me?” I said breaking contact with Webb, as I turned to face Mitzi.

“You were staring at Cabby. He’s an airline pilot from Seattle, you know. Really a very charming young man. And judging from the way he was staring back at you, I’d say he’s just as interested in you, as you seem to be in him!”

“Um…no, really. I was just thinking he looked like someone I know from home. I’m not interested.”

“Mitzi can spot love a mile away. She’s set up 5 happy couples in Conway – she’s a regular matchmaker,” Bob interjected.

Before I had a chance to protest further, we were subjected to a truly strange rendition of “Blue Velvet” by Nick, which was followed by “I Got You Babe” sung by the Quintanas.

Through each song, I was well aware of Webb’s location in the room -- or “Cabby,” or what ever he was calling himself. Clad in well-pressed khaki shorts and a well-fitting light blue Guayabera shirt, he was smugly perched on the low wall that bordered the patio, just on the edge of the activities, watching. ‘Typical,’ I thought.

And every time I looked over at him, he was looking right back at me, with that intense CIA stare. I wondered if he was picturing me topless.

Well if he was, I didn’t care. In fact, part of me was hoping that’s exactly what he was doing. Because I knew if he was picturing me topless, he had to know that I was mentally undressing him down to his Speedo, and beyond.

I glanced over again at the end of Mitzi and Bob’s “You’re The One That I Want” from Grease, and Webb was gone. Just as I was craning my neck around to see how he’d managed to slip away, I felt something brush my shoulder.

A masculine hand, with soft sinewy fingers swept across my bare skin, leaving a tingling trail where he’d touched me.

Webb.

'Damn, he keeps sneaking up like that,' I mentally cursed.

“This one’s for you, Ma--, um Mary.”

~ Oh, the shark, babe, has such teeth, dear  
And it shows them pearly white  
Just a jackknife has old MacHeath, babe  
And he keeps it, out of sight~

~Ya know when that shark bites with his teeth, babe  
Scarlet billows start to spread  
Fancy gloves, oh, wears old MacHeath, babe  
So there’s never, never a trace of red ~

He proceeded to do a dead-on impression of Bobby Darin’s “Mack the Knife,” making sure to put extra emphasis on the “Mack” parts, of course. I was floored. Who knew Webb could sing, much less *swing*?

~Now on the sidewalk, ooh sunny morning  
Lies a body, just oozin’ life  
And someone’s sneakin’ ‘round the corner  
Could that someone be Mack the Knife?~

As he sang, Webb worked his way around the room like a professional lounge lizard, charming the Japanese honeymooners, and making Mitzi blush and giggle as he just about sat in her lap.

~There's a tugboat, down by the river don’tcha know  
Where a cement bag’s just drooppin’ on down  
Oh, that cement is just, it's there for the weight, dear  
Five'll get ya ten old Macky’s back in town~

~Now did you hear ‘bout Louie Miller? He disappeared, babe  
After drawin' out all his hard-earned cash  
And now MacHeath spends just like a sailor  
Could it be our boy's done somethin’ rash?~

The whole time though, his attention was on me. I felt like he was singing just for me, moving his body with the music for my sole benefit

I figured it was some kind of CIA secret weapon, to project your energy at someone like that, leaving the rest of the room with the impression you’re just a regular guy from Seattle singing some Karaoke

~Now Jenny Diver, yeah, Sukey Tawdry  
Ooh, Miss Lotte Lenya and old Lucy Brown  
Oh, the line forms on the right, babe  
Now that Macky’s back in town~

~I said Jenny Diver, whoa, Sukey Tawdry  
Look out to Miss Lotte Lenya and old Lucy Brown  
Yes, that line forms on the right, babe  
Now that Macky’s back in town…  
Look out, old Macky is back~

Webb’s been surprising all of us for years. I’d learned not to be startled by his hidden talents, but singing wasn’t one I’d have ever guessed. He even sang some of the lines in Spanish as he passed the Quintanas’ table. Show off.

Just like in the Marines, determination and focus are results of intense CIA training, but it seemed to come naturally with Webb. And finding myself at the center of that kind of attention, even if it was with mischievous intent, was unexpectedly adding to the heady excitement I was feeling.

So I upped the ante, and for the second time that day I did something out of character for this Marine, and certainly out of character for Miss Mary Layton … I stepped up to take the mic.

//WEBB//

While Mac was mentally undressing me on the beach – not that there was far to go, I’d decided that two could play that game. Not the undressing part, although that had its merits as well, but this mental power-trip game. Having her show up at Karaoke though, was pure luck.

I’d had a pleasant dinner with Julio and Beatriz and was warming to the idea of a night of fruity drinks and bad Karaoke. It was something I’d never normally do, but isn’t that what vacation is all about? I think the humidity and sun were starting to go to my head.

I saw Mac a full 10 minutes before she saw me. So I again felt like I would have the upper hand. And over the next half hour, I poured all my energy into making her well aware of my presence. I wanted to make her think I was still flabbergasted by her earlier display of flesh, giving me an extra advantage for what I had planned.

She didn’t have to know I really *was* still thinking about her exposed skin. Skin that I would swear I could feel the heat radiating from while we verbally sparred on the beach.

But I was counting on an element of surprise as I picked “Mack the Knife” to sing, smirking proudly to myself at my musical pun. Feeling emboldened, I lightly brushed her shoulder as I passed by her chair.

I wasn’t sure what effect it had on her, but I could feel the warmth from her flesh on my fingertips long after I’d touched her. Spurred on by this new sensation and feeling a little angry for letting her get to me that way, I threw myself into my performance.

My confidence grew as I sang, and I did my best to hold her attention while attending to the rest of the audience, turning up the charm all the way.

I returned to my seat, to the cheers of my fellow island dwellers, “Go Cabby!” And I was pretty well satisfied that my mission was accomplished.

I’d made it through the song and from the half dazed, half angry look on Mac’s face during my number, I knew she’d felt me concentrating my energy on her as I worked the room.

Taking my seat again, I didn’t see Mac pick up the microphone, but my head snapped immediately forward to meet her eyes as the twang of the guitar began.

~There's a man who leads a life of danger  
To everyone he meets he stays a stranger  
With every move he makes another chance he takes  
Odds are he won't live to see tomorrow~

~Secret agent man, secret agent man  
They've given you a number and taken away your name~

“Funny, very funny,” I tried to ESP to her.

But she was projecting something back at me, “War. This is war.”

After the incident at the camp in Afghanistan, I should have known what she was capable of. Not cracking in even that kind of situation – she really is all Marine.

And right on cue, as if to refute my assertion, she dipped her torso low and forward in my direction as she delivered a line to Nick and Mike, reminding me that she can also be all woman.

All of a sudden, playing these games with Mac took on a whole different air. I should have felt it sneaking up on me when I couldn’t get my mind off seeing her on the beach, and wanting to touch her as I’d walked past earlier.

That clinched it. They’d put something in my drink. Not only was I staring to enjoy this flirting game, I was almost forgetting that I was an over worked, highly stressed, wound-tight-as-a-clock CIA agent. But I had to admit, it felt good.

~Beware of pretty faces that you find  
A pretty face can hide an evil mind  
Oh, be careful what you say  
Or you'll give yourself away  
Odds are you won't live to see tomorrow~

~Secret agent man, secret agent man  
They've given you a number and taken away your name~

During the musical bridge, Mac made her way around the room, playing to her audience much the way I had. And she stopped to pay special attention to Bob, as I had done with Mitzi.

‘Those poor people, caught in the middle of our little game,’ I chuckled to myself.

Then she got bold and stopped in front of me, nearly giving me a lap dance. ‘God, they must have put something in her drink too,’ I thought.

But I loved every second of it. Feeling my body react and my shorts tighten across my crotch, it was all I could do not to reach for her waist and pull her to me.

It was getting difficult to remember who’d started this little game, and hard to tell where the posturing and toying ended and the serious stuff began. It was clear though, the rules had changed. This was more than good-natured one-upsmanship in revenge for who’d crashed whose vacation.

~Secret agent man, secret agent man  
They've given you a number and taken away your name~

~Swingin' on the Riviera one day  
And then layin' in the Bombay alley next day  
Oh no, you let the wrong word slip  
While kissing persuasive lips  
The odds are you won't live to see tomorrow~

~Secret agent man, secret agent man  
They've given you a number and taken away your name~

I left quickly after her number to give my head a shake in an attempt to clear my mind. What was I thinking? How had this happened?

I didn’t know whether to be flattered and completely turned on, or furious because of the way she was toying with me. All I knew was that I very much liked being her toy, if tonight’s performance was an indication of how she’d play with me.

My senses were heightened by her attentions and my body, feeling relaxed under the tropical influence, was reacting to hers in a most appealing way. I just didn’t want to make a fool of myself if I called her bluff. But damn, I wanted her.

~ Day Three ~ For Your Eyes Only

//MAC//

I don’t know what got into me, but once I stood up to sing, I really got into the performance; and I really got into my little game with Webb.

But whatever the game we thought we were playing had all of a sudden taken on a very different feel. A little Bobby Darin, and 3 minutes and 8 seconds of a television theme song were enough to change everything.

Being far from home, feeling emotionally strong, and sexually deprived for many months was driving my newfound confidence. And that confidence was bringing out a side to my sexuality I wasn’t familiar with; a free-spiritedness I wasn’t exactly sure how to handle.

I thought it probably had something to do with the sensual way the island’s surroundings seem to constantly caress you. With so much skin exposed all the time, you can’t help but be more aware of your body. And the softness of the sand, the sea, and the air had my body reacting in ways I hadn’t expected.

So after sleeping soundly between several rather involved and graphic dreams featuring Webb in -- but mostly out of -- his Speedo, I woke up refreshed and anxious to see what surprises the day would bring.

Slightly disappointed that I didn’t run into Webb at breakfast, I made a last minute decision to join the snorkeling trip out to a far part of the reef.

The spell of the previous night and my dreams about Webb were beginning to fade a little. Maybe all our flirting had just been in my head and I was really making a fool of myself.

Dashing back to my bungalow to get ready, I quickly donned my bikini, wrapped my sarong around my waist, grabbed my beach bag, and ran to catch the boat.

I made it down the dock just in time, and was the last one aboard. Holding my arm, Derek helped me onto the boat, swinging me around into the last available seat.

“Nice of you to join us Miss Layton.”

Webb.

My insides jumped at the sound of his voice. It was low, almost a caress, but tinged with that trademark Webb sarcasm.

‘Yep,’ I thought, ‘I must have been making up whatever vibe I thought was between us last night.’

I did my best to ignore him, flirting heavily with Nick and Mike as we motored out to the reef. In return for my efforts, Webb snubbed me entirely and turned on his charisma for the others.

Turned out, Webb’s an expert on tropical fish, and he made himself indispensable to our fellow snorkelers during the morning’s excursion.

Looking as natural as could be in his Speedo, unlike at our meeting yesterday, I watched him as he was all confidence and ease, narrating on about the local fish and reef ecosystem.

Maybe things were weird today, but I was finding this side of Webb, well … nice. He was downright charming, in fact. Yet another surprise from Webb.

I began to think that as long as we were going to be stuck together, maybe we could get along enough to have an okay time on our respective vacations.

We stopped for lunch on what wasn’t much more than a sandbar with a smattering of trees and vegetation lining the center. With time to spare after we ate, I walked along the white sand beach, making a loop around the tiny island.

Almost back to where the boat was moored, I spotted Webb on the beach, staring out at the ocean. This time I was going to be the one sneaking up on him.

“You waiting for Pussy Galore to come out of the water to help you battle Dr. No?”

“Pussy Galore was in ‘Goldfinger.’ Honey Ryder was in ‘Dr. No,’” he answered without turning around.

“I’m impressed Webb. You do know your spy movies.” I teased good-naturedly.

We seemed to have reached some sort of detente.

“You going to go topless again today?” he queried, turning quickly to face me.

“Is that a request?” I asked, raising my eyebrows high, thinking, ‘God, the irony...’

Only this time, the answer was far different. The man was far different.

“Yes.”

//WEBB// 

I thought for sure Mac would be back on the beach today or headed into town to shop. So I decided to indulge in two of my long-time hobbies -- snorkeling and free diving. Despite what some James Bond movies might lead you to believe, they’re not activities a spy gets to engage in often.

Although I was surprised to see Mac running for the boat, I again had the advantage of seeing her before she saw me.

As she came down the dock, I thought maybe I was glad to see her because I was looking forward to playing Cabby, who for all outward appearances had a good chance of scoring with “Mary,” as Bob suggested to me last night. But I found myself wanting to share my passion for the sea with her, and looking forward to just being in her company, which I was unexpectedly desiring.

“Nice of you to join us Miss Layton.”

I meant it to come out soft and low, and didn’t intend the snide edge my words had. Once I’d said it, I saw her posture change and knew she was having serious doubts about whatever chemistry was between us last night. All of a sudden so was I.

I didn’t want to spend the day playing with Mac the way we’d played with each other last night. It was too exhausting, and too confusing.

After fantasizing about undressing Mac out of that short skirt and halter-top for half the night, I woke up with sticky sheets and another erection, but felt foolish for allowing my hormones get the better of me.

I started to feel panicky. What had I been thinking – flirting with her like that? What was *she* thinking coming on to me that way? I needed to clear my head. Or maybe that was the problem. Maybe my head was clearer than ever before. The tropics and the time off were sure doing a number on me.

I was suddenly unsure of how to interact with Mac. And was more anxious than before to get out onto the ocean and into the water.

There’s a whole world under the water and it’s such a rare treat to be a part of it. The way the salt water buoys you, and takes you in; no spies, no espionage, just you and the fish. It’s very grounding and calming.

Keeping up the charade of Cabby Welton the airline pilot, and I would have been free to interact with Mac. But my poorly delivered greeting ruined any chance of that. Mac repaid the gesture by batting her eyes and leaning over a little too far while she chatted with Nick and Mike.

Sighing to myself, I tried to concentrate on enjoying the fish and the people. I really am a people person. I just don’t have the luxury in my job of socializing much or letting my guard down. So I was enjoying sharing my passion for the ocean with the others.

After lunch, I walked along the shore, pausing to gaze out at the endless blue ocean before me, imagining the teeming life below the surface, both unaware of the troubles in the human world, and in places, ultimately threatened by our presence.

“You waiting for Pussy Galore to come out of the water to help you battle Dr. No?” she said as she stood behind me.

I had known for about a minute that someone was watching me. I should have guessed it was Mac. Obviously some cosmic force was drawing us together out here in the middle of the ocean.

“Pussy Galore was in ‘Goldfinger.’ Honey Ryder was in ‘Dr. No,’” I said simply without turning.

“I’m impressed Webb. You do know your spy movies,” she said lightly.

I hadn’t planned on flirting with her, but I guess I figured that since things appeared to be softening between us, I’d throw caution to the wind. So I took a deep breath and spun around, “You going to go topless again today?”

“Is that a request?” she countered, sounding playful and ready to continue our verbal sparring from the previous day.

I couldn’t quite keep eye contact while I said it, but I answered honestly, “Yes.”

Slowly raising my eyes to meet hers, I watched her expression shift from surprise to something softer. My insides tightened and I imagined myself stepping forward to kiss her. But before either of us had a chance to react to the situation, Derek called out. It was time to return to the boat.

We rode back to the Beachcomber in an awkward silence, each either making small talk with the other passengers, or lost in our own thoughts looking out at the water surrounding us.

~ Night Three ~ La Cumparsita

//MAC//

Exhausted from being in the sun and water most of the day, I took a long nap, showered, and threw on a light, strappy sundress before going to dinner. As I showered, I reviewed the day’s events in my mind.

My second chance-meeting on the beach with Webb in as many days had left me perplexed. I was caught off guard when he asked if I was going to go topless again. I suppose I knew I was flirting when I asked if he was making a request; but I never expected him to say yes.

I’d swear we were about to have a “moment” when Derek came to find us. There’d been a palpable tension running between us and I wasn’t sure how it would have resolved if we hadn’t been interrupted. I wasn’t sure how I *wanted* it to resolve.

This was getting as confusing as my non-relationship relationship with Harm. And that’s what I came here to get away from. I sighed and wondered what’d happened to the confidence and sense of freedom I’d had the night before. As I dressed, I felt determined to reclaim those feelings, Webb or no Webb.

I walked down the beach path to the restaurant just in time for a late dinner. After eating fresh mahi-mahi, thinking that Harm would be proud of my healthy meal choice, I found myself feeling a bit lonely. So when I heard the music as I left the restaurant, it piqued my interest.

Dancing is like a great work out. The activity is really good for you – physically and emotionally. I thought it was just what I needed to reclaim my vacation mindset.

Again, Derek was set up as “DJ” out on the patio and there were several people out on the dance floor. It looked like a mini-disco, complete with flashing lights and a mirror-ball. I smiled and waved at Bob and Mitzi doing the Macarena dance moves, even though “My Girl” was playing on the sound system.

Nick and Mike were standing on the sidelines like wallflowers, so I asked them both to dance; you’d have thought I was propositioning them by the way they reacted, which was great for my ego.

We danced to everything from Sinatra to KC and the Sunshine Band, ABBA to the Temptations, even a little Cheap Trick -- with Bob and Mitzi boogie-ing right along with us. I was starting to have a really good time.

Just as “YMCA” came on, I excused myself, telling Nick and Mike I needed a breather. On my way to the bar for some water, I spotted a familiar figure standing in the shadows.  
Webb.

‘Jeez, doesn’t that guy ever make a regular entrance?’ I thought.

I managed to stay out of his line of sight, standing behind a large tropical plant, sipping my water, and watching him.

He appeared much as he did last night, in neat khaki pants and a button-up short-sleeved shirt -- count on Webb to always look just right for the occasion. And he looked refreshed, like he’d had a shower; his hair was wet and his face freshly shaven.

But his stance was awkward, which didn’t really surprise me. It was hard to imagine Clayton Webb feeling comfortable at anything other than a formal ball. Although I’d heard rumors about the tango.

I saw Beatriz Quintana walk up to him, and tried to eavesdrop as they proceeded to have what looked like a friendly conversation, but I was too far away. She left him briefly, spoke to Derek for a moment who replied with a nod, and she returned to Webb just as the music started.

Webb and Mrs. Quintana proceeded to do the most erotic dance. I guessed it was some kind of Argentine tango, and their performance appeared flawless to my untrained eye. If the Lambada was the “forbidden dance,” what they were doing should have been a federal crime.

The intricate footwork and sensuous steps were passionate and intense. With her legs intertwining in and out of his, Mrs. Quintana lunged with one leg wrapped high around Webb’s, bringing their groins together in close contact.

I began to imagine what it would feel like to be in that position with Webb -- although I was picturing us in a much more private setting. My face flushed with the idea and I could feel a heat melting down through me.

I don’t know much about ballroom dance, but I guessed he was the consummate partner – expertly using his body and attitude to guide her. His strong hands and confident posture communicating to his partner how to move, telling her just what he wanted. Muscles and limbs alternately pushing and pulling to elicit the desired effect. Just thinking about it aroused me even more.

The rest of the dance floor was empty as we all watched their sensual, yet not quite sexual, performance. I was utterly mesmerized and couldn’t stop thinking about how his hand had felt brushing against my skin the previous night.

Even though it was a simple touch of his fingers across my shoulder, I was now driven to distraction with curiosity -- how would his hands feel on other parts of me? What would they feel like guiding my body to move in time with his?

As Webb and Mrs. Quintana stepped through their tango, I wondered if Mr. Quintana had a hot temper, because what his wife and Webb were doing would have driven some husbands to violence.

I scanned the room, briefly concerned for Webb’s health, anticipating the possible need to step between them as punches flew. But I spotted Mr. Quintana next to the bar with the Hallstads, watching with wrapped appreciation and attention as he pointed out the finer points of the dance to Bengt and Inger. Webb didn’t need my protection after all.

When the music finally ended I was still flushed and breathing a little heavier than normal. Gulping the last of my water down as the regular dance music resumed, I chuckled to myself as Hot Chocolate’s “I Believe in Miracles” came on. If I told anyone back at JAG what I’d seen and how it had affected me, they’d have thought *that* was a miracle.

Just a few days prior I would have concurred; but strange as it was, I could think of no sexier thing than Clayton Webb.

~I believe in miracles  
Where you from you sexy thing  
I believe in miracles  
Since you came along you sexy thing~

Giddy from watching him dance and the effect it’d had on me, I walked right up to Webb, who had his back to me as he drained a glass of water.

“Hey, you ‘sexy thing,’” I said.

He whipped around nearly choking on his drink. I couldn’t help grinning wide at my bold statement and the way it’d caught him completely by surprise.

~Where did you come from baby  
How did you know I needed you  
How did you know I needed you so badly  
How did you know I'd give my heart gladly  
Yesterday I was one of a lonely people  
Now you're lying close to me making love to me~

“Mac,” he said flatly as he recovered.

“Mary,” I reminded him, “Nice show *Cabby*.”

“Yeah, who’d have thought a regular guy from Seattle could do the tango?” he shrugged arrogantly.

‘Ahhh, there’s the Webb we’re all familiar with,’ I thought.

“Who’d have thought a regular *Company man* could do the tango?” I countered, trying to recapture the rhythm of banter we’d had earlier on the beach as I examined his face, which was flushed with the effort of dancing, a fine sweat glistening on his skin.

He glanced around making sure no one had caught my CIA reference, and then unexpectedly smiled warmly at me. Maybe he had sensed my appreciation for yet another surprising Webb talent. His expression made my insides warm all over again as I wondered what other talents he might have hidden away that I might discover.

~I believe in miracles  
Where you from you sexy thing  
I believe in miracles  
Since you came along you sexy thing~

~Kiss me, you sexy thing  
Touch me baby, you sexy thing  
I love the way you touch me darlin’, you sexy thing  
You're sexy, you sexy thing~ 

“I just hope you don’t dance like that with your mother,” I teased.

“You’re just jealous I wasn’t dancing that way with *you*,” he said smirking devilishly and leaning closer to me. With him so near, I could feel the heat coming off his body. It was wonderfully distracting.

Taking in a breath, I turned my head slightly and closed my eyes for a moment, relishing his proximity and wondering if he knew how much I really did want him to dance with me that way, and more.

~Yesterday I was one of a lonely people  
Now you're lying close to me giving it to me~

~I believe in miracles  
Where you from you sexy thing, sexy thing you  
I believe in miracles~

Since you came along you sexy thing~

“Mac?” he said softly, leaning in closer still; I could feel his breath on my cheek, escaping through his parted lips as he spoke.

Opening my eyes, I angled my face back to his and was met with a gentle but concentrated stare. I felt the tension string between us again, like on the beach earlier in the day. This time though, I knew how I wanted to resolve it.

But the moment was again shattered by Derek. He announced that Bob and Mitzi were requesting a song, “In the hopes of encouraging a certain elementary school teacher from the east coast to ‘warm up’ to a nice airline pilot from Seattle.”

“Come Fly With Me” started to play. Webb and I each took a step back from one another, muttering, “Oh brother,” at the same time.

~Come fly with me, let's fly let's fly away  
If you can use some exotic booze  
There's a bar in far Bombay  
Come fly with me, let's fly let's fly away~

~Come fly with me, let's float down to Peru  
In llama land, there's a one man band  
And he'll toot his flute for you~

We shared an almost shy smile at our mirrored thoughts and started toward the dance floor, as we were expected to. But the electricity in the air from just a moment ago was gone as soon as we touched.

All of a sudden, we were Mac and Webb, antagonistic colleagues again; stiff and awkward in this forced social situation.

Dancing together as Mary and Cabby though, we were expected to be warm and friendly. As the song went on we swayed to the music, doing our best to appear attracted to each other. Which wouldn’t have been at all difficult a few minutes ago, but something was different now.

With the eyes of our audience on us, Webb leaned over and placed a soft gentle kiss on my lips. But just like with Harm, I knew he was kissing someone else, not me.

Webb was doing it for the benefit of the on-lookers. I couldn’t quite place how I knew it for sure, but something was missing in the way his lips met mine.

I wondered if it was part of his CIA training. Maybe there was a class, “How to Kiss Someone and Not Give Yourself Over to the Moment or Get Yourself Killed” but with a shorter name.

I was sure that in his past there were missions where Webb had to get physically involved. As heartless as Webb could appear, I was also sure that over the years he’d have learned to hold back something of himself in those cases; to protect himself, his heart. And as our brief kiss ended, it felt like that’s what he was doing with me.

That kiss gave me an insight into Webb that no one else had access to. And it was sinking in that there was so much more to this man than he let on. It made me sad for him in a way. But I also felt lucky to have discovered some of the hidden parts of Webb, and I appreciated him all the more for it.

Since running into him at the Beachcomber, I’d seen him be embarrassed, shy, social, and playful, and he had definitely spent some time flirting with me. I longed to see more of this new side to Clayton Webb -- this hidden and protected side. What else was beneath the armor of sarcasm and detached indifference that he usually wore?

I wanted him to let his guard down, I wanted him to let it down with me, and I wanted him to kiss me again.

I imagined Webb’s lips on mine, not Cabby’s; and I knew if it happened it would be Mac kissing him back, not Mary. I inhaled and sighed softly as the image passed through my mind. As I did, I felt his stance relax ever so slightly in reaction. Encouraged that I’d made a crack in his shield, I smiled to myself as we finished our dance.

Anxious to end our “Cabby and Mary” charade, we left the dance floor and went our separate ways as soon as we heard the song fade-out.

I went to sit on the low stone wall at the edge of the patio and watched as Webb quickly made his way inside. I followed him with my eyes as long as I could, not knowing if he was gone for the night or if he’d turn up again, as seemed to be the pattern.

I made small talk with the Arakawas, practicing my Japanese, and kept an eye out for Webb, wishing we could dance again under different circumstances. Not put on the spot to act out a romance between two vacationing strangers, but as Mac and Webb. Where we could be ourselves and explore this new attraction that I was sure had been building between us.

Just as the Arakawas walked away, it was as if Webb had read my mind. He silently appeared just behind me to my right, almost nuzzling his nose in the hair that was tucked behind my ear.

“Dance with me, Mac. For real this time.”

//WEBB//

I knew that Mac was watching me from behind a palm tree when Beatriz Quintana had approached me. Beatriz and I had talked about my dance skills and the Argentine tango at dinner the previous night. So when she asked me to tango with her, I was happy to oblige.

My motivations weren’t completely altruistic however. I know the tango can be an erotic spectacle, and seeing how Mac would react was forefront in my mind. So, I made sure to put my all into the seductive dance.

Beatriz turned out to be a wonderful partner. She was confident in her steps and trusted my experience to lead her. She also seemed game to turn up the heat, winding her legs around mine, sliding up and down my body at every opportunity. I thought maybe she was trying to make Mr. Quintana jealous.

Whatever our personal motivations were, it was a pleasure to dance with such a well-trained partner. And when we left the dance floor, I was exhausted from the effort and needed to re-hydrate. As I gulped down the cool water, Mac caught me off guard.

“Hey, you ‘sexy thing.’”

Coughing and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I turned around, I was met with Mac’s radiant smile. I hoped it was an after effect of seeing me tango with Beatirz Quintana, but I suspected it was also a show of pride for the way she’d snuck up on me. It seemed to have become our game.

“Mac,” I stated, attempting indifference.

“Mary,” she scolded, then continued, “Nice show *Cabby*.”

“Yeah, who’d have thought a regular guy from Seattle could do the tango?” I shot back.

“Who’d have thought a regular *Company man* could do the tango?”

Resuming the lines of conversational banter we were getting in the habit of trading, I smiled back at her, appreciating the flirtatious nature of her delivery.

“I just hope you don’t dance like that with your mother,” she said lightly.

“You’re just jealous I wasn’t dancing that way with *you*,” I grinned, taking the verbal opening as I edged forward.

I suspected I’d touched on something close to the truth because Mac averted her gaze, closed her eyes, and turned from me.

“Mac?” I said, leaning farther toward her, hopeful that our conversation was going where I thought it was.

She smelled intoxicating, of fruity shampoo and slightly salty from the ocean air and the exertion of dancing earlier. Her proximity roused my senses, and I could feel my body beginning to respond in anticipation of physical contact.

In reaction to the questioning tone in my voice, she turned to face me again, meeting my gaze dead on. Our faces were inches apart and I quickly glanced down at her lips, sure we were going to kiss.

“Bob and Mitzi have asked that I play this song, in the hopes of encouraging a certain elementary school teacher from the east coast to ‘warm up’ to a nice airline pilot from Seattle,” Derek announced over the sound system.

‘Damn,’ I thought, darting my eyes away for a second. And as “Come Fly With Me” started up, Mac and I both backed off.

“Oh brother,” we said simultaneously.

Taking her arm, I led her to the dance floor to appease Bob and Mitzi, and whoever else was in on the matchmaking. But as soon as I took her in my arms, the spell of intimacy was broken.

Playing the part of Cabby had been fun until then. I’d enjoyed the irony of traveling as Cabby while at the same time letting my guard down to allow more than the usual amounts of the real Clayton Webb to come through.

But dancing with Mac, as Cabby, was so frustrating it almost hurt. I didn’t want to play-act with Mac. I wanted to be the real Webb with her; to show her how beautiful and strong and sexy Clayton Webb thought she was, not Cabby.

The force of those feelings startled me and my guard went up immediately. I couldn’t quite figure out when I’d gone from being intrigued by Mac’s presence here, to feeling simple curiosity and attraction, to that moment on the dance floor -- when I found myself refusing to use Cabby as a way to express my desire for her.

If I was going to cross a physical line with Mac, I wanted both of us to be damn sure it was Mac and Webb doing it, not Mary and Cabby.

But knowing our dance was being scrutinized by Bob and Mitzi, and about a dozen others, I swallowed down the last of Clayton Webb, and forced Cabby Welton to kiss Mary Layton.

It was a familiar gesture for me, putting on a show of physical affection in a situation where others were analyzing your every move. Countless missions and many years in the field had taught me to play that kind of charade. And early on I’d learned to keep my feelings at bay, to distance myself from emotionally experiencing much of anything; I’d taught myself not to care.

You can’t care, or you’ll get yourself or others killed, or blow the mission. And naturally, sustaining that kind of emotional distance for intense operations, you find yourself keeping a distance from just about everyone and everything all the time, out of habit.

Consistently denying your feelings is exhausting, and so reacting to Mac the way I was made me uneasy. But it was a reflex to shut off my emotions, an attempt to shield myself from feeling what Clay Webb really wanted to feel -- what I wanted Mac to feel *from* me.

Despite our physical proximity, I knew Mac sensed that I was distancing myself. Her instincts are impressive that way – they’re the reason she got out of that Afghani prison camp alive. So there was no way she wasn’t aware of what I was doing. I’d just hoped her intuition told her why.

She exhaled a deep breath and I sensed something melancholy from her as she almost unnoticeably leaned into me. In response, my body melded into hers, just as imperceptibly; I couldn’t stop myself.

And because I let that small measure of Clayton Webb react to Sarah MacKenzie, it took all my concentration not to press into her fully, and let my body take over completely.

In a moment though, the song ended and we parted in opposite directions. She sat on the wall surrounding the patio; I went inside to the restroom. I needed to get away from her, and away from having to be Cabby.

Hundreds of missions under my belt, pretending to be someone else, and I’ve rarely needed to escape like that. The effect Mac was having on me was unnerving. My blood pressure was going up and I needed to think for a minute, to regain my composure. I splashed cold water on my face and closed my eyes.

As I ran my wet fingers through my hair, I knew I’d already decided that I couldn’t be anything but honest with her about what I was feeling, even if I wasn’t exactly sure myself.

I reasoned that there were no grounds, other than in my own head, to deny myself the things I was desiring from Mac. I could still be the Clay Webb I always was on the inside, and be Cabby to the rest of the guests. Nothing would change. Except that something already had.

Out here in the middle of this ocean, thousands of miles from home, I’d allowed myself the rarity of really being Clayton Webb, and I’d discovered something about myself that I never would have guessed.

After years of shut-down emotions and denied personal involvements, I wanted to let down my walls. And I wanted to do it with Mac.

I wanted Mac to know who Clayton Webb really was. I wanted her to see the real me; the person I barely let myself acknowledge.

Returning to the patio, I spotted Mac talking with the Arakawas. While she was occupied in conversation, I whispered to Derek, slipped him a twenty, and skirted the edge of the courtyard, staying in the shadows as I waited for her to be alone.

When Kyoji and Machiko finally said good night, I took a breath, stepped up to her, edged my nose into the hair behind her ear, and closed my eyes.

“Dance with me, Mac. For real this time.”

My twenty dollars didn’t go to waste. Derek started the song just as I spoke. And I was certain I saw a shiver travel through Mac’s body as I breathed the words.

~I can hear her heart beat for a thousand miles  
And the heavens open every time she smiles  
And when I come to her that's where I belong  
Yet I'm running to her like a river's song~

~She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love  
She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love~

Unlike when we danced just a few minutes ago, this time our bodies melted together without hesitation. Whatever decision I’d made to let myself go, I was making it wholeheartedly. And apparently, so was Mac.

I was hyperaware of every point of contact between us. Where her body curved out to meet mine, where my body arced and met hers. And in the spaces between, it felt like the air was humming.

With my arms wrapped low around her waist, she held hers around my neck and we danced with our heads side by side, bent together. I could feel her fingers intermittently brushing at the edge of my collar, not quite touching the sensitive hairs on the back of my neck.

I so wanted to feel her hands on me. Lifting my head to change the angle of her touch, she reflexively ran her fingers through the ends of my hair as she finally made contact.  
I couldn’t suppress a soft “hmmm” of pleasure at her caresses. And just from the touch of her hands on my bare neck, blood was quickly rushing to my groin.

~She's got a fine sense of humor when I'm feeling low down  
And when I come to her when the sun goes down  
Take away my trouble, take away my grief  
Take away my heartache, in the night like a thief~

~She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love  
She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love~

I exhaled unevenly, reveling in the anticipatory electricity between us. Anxious to touch more of her but wanting to savor the moment, I slowly slid my hands up her back. And feeling her warmth beneath the material of her dress as I did, I was suddenly urgent to touch the heat of her bare skin.

When my hands reached the top of her dress, I let my fingers skim the back of her neck, hoping to have the same arousing effect on her, as she’d had on me.

Lowering my head again, I concentrated on her bare shoulder, which was just in my view. I delicately brushed my lips against the place on her shoulder where I’d traced my fingers the previous night. And I felt, more than heard, Mac’s breathy sigh of response, which drove my senses even further aflame.

~Yes I need her in the daytime  
Yes I need her in the night  
Yes I want to throw my arms around her  
Kiss her hug her kiss her hug her tight~

~And when I'm returning from so far away  
She gives me some sweet lovin’ brighten up my day  
Yes it makes me righteous, yes it makes me feel whole  
Yes it makes me mellow down in to my soul~

~She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love  
She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love~

I was concerned that when the song ended, the charmed moment between us would be lost. I feared that if one of us thought about it too long, the portal of opportunity would close for us -- I was desperate not to have something jerk us from this island reality.

My heart pounding in anticipation, I wanted to act before that something had a chance disturb us. I tilted my head back just far enough to read her face. And I saw her eyes reflecting back the same desire that I knew was readable in my expression as well.

In the fraction of a moment of hesitation before our mouths met, I could feel her breath on my lips. The sensation was so erotic that what I had intended as a gentle questioning kiss, turned into something more insistent. But her mouth opened to meet my tongue, which was eager to taste her, and we kissed deeply, leaving me just at the edge of control.

As we continued to kiss with growing fervor, I held her tighter and pressed my hips into hers. I was sure she could feel my hardness pushing into her, and she leaned her hips right back into mine in response.

I thought that if we didn’t get off the dance floor soon, our fellow island-dwellers would get way more “bang” for their vacation buck than they’d intended.

Thankfully, Mac must have been thinking something similar; as the music ended she said in my ear, “Let’s take a walk.”

~ Night Three ~ Oh, What a Night

//MAC//

I wasn’t really sure what was going on between us. I knew what I wanted, and from the way he’d molded his body to mine as we danced, it felt like he wanted the same thing.

There was no doubt in my mind that we were not acting out Mary and Cabby’s attraction. This dance was all Mac and Webb.

As we moved to the music, he leaned his head back just enough to let me wrap my fingers in his hair. And in my roused state, just touching his shortly cropped hair was an erotic act.

My actions apparently had the same effect on him; at the first contact, he murmured appreciatively, making my insides melt and starting a warm wetness between my legs.

To ground myself, I concentrated on his hands at my back. As I did, he began to caress me and could feel the muscles in his chest and arms work at guiding his touch higher.

Beneath his clothes, Webb hides his muscular frame well, and I was looking forward to experiencing more of his concealed muscles as they strained and contracted under our mutual touches.

He softly kissed my shoulder, the one he’d touched the other night. A gesture of which I was certain he was aware. Those are the kinds of details that Webb loves. And I was beginning to appreciate that facet of his personality, with a passion.

As his soft lips grazed my skin, I involuntarily let out a sigh in response. I swore to myself that if he ever touched that place on my shoulder again when we were back in Washington, I’d come completely undone, no matter what the circumstances.

Perhaps in reaction to my sigh, he tilted his head back, giving us just enough room to make eye contact before we kissed. Webb, whose lips on my shoulder had been so soft and almost hesitant, kissed me with such intensity.

In reply I opened my mouth to him, anxious for the kiss to deepen. And when it did, it felt like the fiery beginning of an exploration of bodies, senses, tastes, and reactions that I wanted to last for hours, days.

“Let’s take a walk,” I suggested as we broke our kiss; both of us breathing in hard, short puffs.

We slipped out the side of the patio, leaving the Beachcomber’s makeshift disco, and made our way down the path to the beach. I led the way, with Webb holding onto my hand as he resumed kissing that same shoulder with a consuming concentration.

But when we reached the beach, I turned from his touch. I wanted to see his face in the bright moonlight reflecting off the ocean.

“What’s going on here Webb? This wouldn’t be happening if we were back home, would it?”

Whatever romantic effects the tropics were having, I wanted to be sure of what was going on between us. It was all of a sudden urgently important to me that there be no regrets. Clayton Webb was all of a sudden urgently important to me.

"I don’t know Mac, would it? I mean, we're not in Washington, are we? We're not even on the same continent, but does that change who we are?"

‘Okay, this is getting creepy,’ I thought. Remembering that Webb had been in Sydney the same time we were, I wondered for a second if he’d listened in on my conversation with Harm that night on the ferry.

“Location doesn’t change who we are Webb,” I said, following the script -- what the hell.

“Do you really believe that?” he countered.

I inhaled deeply, before slowly beginning to speak, “I’m not sure. Maybe we’ve absorbed too much of Mary and Cabby, or maybe this location *has* changed something about us.”

I wasn’t sure where the conversation was going, and I wondered if we were skirting around the issue to give ourselves one last out before we went too far.

“That’s ironic,” he said with a short bitter laugh. “I’ve felt more like Clayton Webb here, than I ever do in Washington. I’d like to think that you’ve responded to Clay, not Cabby,” he said taking a step toward me before continuing with a sober look on his face, “I know I’ve been responding to Sarah Mackenzie, and I couldn’t care less about Mary Layton.”

His words had a moving affect; this was the Webb that I’d begun to hope was beneath his arrogant CIA facade. I took a step forward and brought my hand up to his face. I touched the fringe of hair that framed his forehead and ran my fingers along the side of his cheek.

He closed his eyes and leaned into my hand, “Mac, if you don’t take me back to your bungalow right now, you’ll end up with sand in places that even the CIA won’t be able to find.”

Smiling widely at him, my own desire coming to the surface again, I kissed him roughly before taking his hand and leading him to my bungalow.

I opened the door for us, and walked across the room to turn on the lamp -- the one shaped like the leaning palm trees that dotted the beach. I watched Webb blink for a moment in the light as his eyes adjusted.

I turned his moment of distraction to my advantage by stepping up to him, reaching for his shirt collar with both hands, and bringing his lips to mine.

Minutes later, we broke our heated kiss, which had really been more of a dueling of wet tongues, lips and mouths, and we just stared at each other for a moment. Our heavy breathing was almost louder than the breezes in the coconut trees and the breaking waves on the beach near by.

We smiled at each other, and I let out a small laugh at the absolute un-believability of the situation. Just how did I find myself on a South Pacific island, in the hot, passionate embrace of Clayton Webb?

~ The scene gets those funny flashback waves across it, and we are now in the present. ~

I decide that I really don’t care, because his lips on mine feel amazing. I cover him with caresses, getting my hands on every inch I can reach. His body is strong and sturdy, not so lanky like someone else I know. Someone I’m really not concerned with at the moment.

Curiosity and desire driving me wild, I aim us toward the rattan-framed bed. If we keep kissing and touching each other this way, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stand up for much longer.

As we move, I tear my hands away from their exploration of the firm muscles at his backside, and start unbuttoning his shirt. His kisses grow in urgency as I reach each successive button, until we have to break our embrace as we hit the bed with our legs, and collapse onto it.

//WEBB//

Mac caught me off guard when she started that conversation on the beach. I don’t know what I was expecting; it was perfectly reasonable to be questioning this unlikely attraction between us. But there was nothing I wanted to hide from her, and I wanted her to know that.

As she touched me tenderly, all gentle thoughts left my mind, “Mac, if you don’t take me back to your bungalow right now, you’ll end up with sand in places that even the CIA won’t be able to find.”

I was momentarily nervous as we reached her bungalow. We were about to cross a line that couldn’t be un-crossed. My hesitation was quickly forgotten though, as she grabbed my shirt and kissed me, making my confidence soar and re-igniting my passion.

If Chegwidden could see me now, I thought -- all hot, sweaty, and panting with desire. Actually, I was very thankful to have the Admiral many thousands of miles away. But had I known that getting caught by Mac on a sandy beach while clad only in a Speedo bathing suit, and a skimpy one at that, would lead to this … I’d have booked a vacation a long time ago. 

~ The scene gets those funny flashback waves across it, and we are now in the present. ~

I want to touch her everywhere with my hands, my mouth, my tongue, all of me. And we can’t seem to get to the bed fast enough. Once there, she dispenses with my shirt and I inhale sharply as her hands touch my chest, running her fingers across my nipples.

I slide my hand under the edge of her dress and relish the feel of her silky skin. Reaching higher, I caress the curve of her ass, eliciting a soft moan. And we spend the next period of time quickly mapping out each other’s bodies. Hands and lips touching exposed skin at a fever pitch.

I stand her up to undo the zipper at the back of her dress. Taking my time as I unzip it, I kiss the length of her spine as more and more of her skin is revealed. As her dress falls to the floor, Mac turns around in my arms and for the second time this week I see her full, bare breasts.

Last time, I spent my energy concentrating on not looking at them. Now I freely admire her beautiful body, and watch as my hands move over her curves. Looking up at her face, I see that she’s watching my hands too, and I grin at her as she glances up to catch my eye.

Pulling her close against my body with one hand, I use the other to massage her right breast, lightly pinching her nipple as she kisses my neck and my jaw line, moaning with pleasure.

“Webb, I think you’ve got too many clothes on for the climate here,” she pants, reaching to press her palm into my erection beneath the khaki pants I’ve still got on.

I lean into her hand, enjoying her attentions as she firmly caresses my hardness. Momentarily disappointed as she draws her hand away, I’m relieved to see her reach for my belt buckle. She deftly undoes it -- and my pants. I kick off my huarache sandals as she lets my pants pool around my feet, leaving me in just my boxers.

With my erection straining to be released, she runs her hands down my chest, past my lower abdomen, and kneels before me as she pulls my boxers down, so I am completely naked before her.

She places hot wet kisses along my upper thighs, working her way toward my cock. I thread my fingers through her hair, “And I thought the CIA knew about torture,” I manage to say.

She finally lets her lips fall on my erection, and taking my balls in one hand while grabbing my ass with the other, she takes me fully in her mouth. As she draws me in and out, her tongue slides around the sensitive underside of my tip, and I let my head roll back in pleasure.

“Come here,” I say, pulling her up to me, and then settling us both down on the bed where I quickly set out to divest her of her underwear, the last remaining article of clothing between us. As I reach for her panties, I pause to return her favor from earlier and bear down on her mound with my palm, feeling the wetness between her legs with my fingers.

Finally tossing the garment aside, I resume my kisses and caresses. My left hand snakes back to her sex and I explore her slick folds. Slipping a finger inside her, I hear myself moan at how hot and wet she is. More blood rushes to my cock in anticipation of it replacing my fingers between those folds.

I feel Mac’s lips curve into a smile as we continue to touch and taste one another. I’m sure she knows how much I want her, and I’m glad.

I adjust my position on the bed to place my thumb over her clit as I continue stroking her from the inside. Gauging her reactions, I start out rubbing her lightly, increasing the speed and intensity of my touches as I find just the right combinations. She buries her head in my shoulder, placing small kisses and bites there, while her breathing starts to come in short bursts.

“Webb,” she pants as I feel her inner muscles contracting around my fingers, and I smooth out my strokes as the waves begin to subside.

Mac takes just a moment to regain her composure. And when she does, she lifts her head up, tosses her hair out of her face, and looks at me with glassy dark eyes.

“Well, that was unexpected.”

“Should I be insulted, Mac? Did you think a CIA Assistant Deputy Director for Operations wouldn’t be able to complete his mission?” I say, sitting up a little and feeling playful.

“I’ve just never, um, you know -- from being touched by someone else. But I’d love to return the favor,” she says almost sweetly, as she gives my chest a push, toppling me back onto the bed.

Wrapping her hand around my erection, she starts to work it purposefully up and down. And we stay like that for a few minutes, exchanging fast open mouth kisses.

“Maybe next time,” I say as I roll us over so that she’s beneath me. My cock is pressing into her as we grind into one another, and I position myself so that I’m sliding against her wet opening.

I want this so badly, but don’t want to do anything stupid, especially with her, “Mac, please tell me you’re…” I practically beg.

I know it shouldn’t necessarily be her responsibility, but I’m hoping we can have that conversation later.

“Pill? Yes.”

Thank God she knows what I’m asking, because I’m not sure I’d be capable of forming a complete sentence at the moment.

A second after Mac answers, she shoots back at me, “Are you…”

“Yes. Totally clean,” I reply to her question. At least that’s what I desperately hope she was asking.

“Good,” she pants back at me grabbing my hips and guiding me into her.

I close my eyes at the sensation of being slowly enveloped in her warmth. Once I’m stretched all the way inside her, I still my movements as we adjust to the feeling.

She looks up at me and touches the hair at my forehead, letting her hand brush the side of my face. It’s a repeat of her gesture from earlier on the beach. I’m so overwhelmed by all the sensations that I have to close my eyes.

Slowly I begin to move my hips again, pushing and pulling against her. She hikes her legs up around me, tilting her body to meet my thrusts. For better leverage, I lean on my left forearm, and place my other hand flat against the wall at the head of the bed.

I’m getting closer and closer to the edge, and when I look down at Mac, she’s panting hard too. As I feel the beginning of her release with her muscles squeezing around me, I let my body completely take over and ride out the waves of our mutual climax.

Untangling ourselves from each other, and the hopelessly rumpled bed sheets, I curl myself around her, with my nose again buried in her hair, dozing off as I inhale her scent, which is now mixed with the smell of sweat, sex, and us.

~ Day & Night Four ~ Can’t Get Enough of Your Love

//MAC//

I wake up lying on my back with Webb on his side next to me, his body halfway covering mine. I watch the sun make its way through the open blinds of the bungalow; it’s a beautiful sunrise.

But on this quiet morning, I am most enjoying the nuances of color and shadow as the sun changes its angle across the sleeping form of Webb as he clings to me, still deep asleep.

His hair is a mess and his face is full of stubble. It’s adorable. As the light brightens towards its tropical limit, I study his body and wonder about the man inside this sleeping form.

But I don’t have a chance to wonder too long. He begins to wake up, shifting his body against me, and I feel his morning erection pressing against my hip.

“God, I had the most erotic dream,” he says, his eyes still closed.

“That’s funny, so did I,” I say playing along.

“Want to tell me about yours? Or shall I tell you about mine?” he looks up at me finally, with warm green eyes and a half-smile on his face.

“Why don’t we act them out?” I grin back, as I pounce on him.

But before any acting out can be done I need to get some breakfast, this Marine is starving. So we agree to shower, and meet in the restaurant.

Getting up to gather his clothes, which are scattered in heaps around the room, Webb bends over here and there, collecting and donning each item one at a time. I lean back in bed, admiring his body and the views he’s giving me as he bends, twists, and adjusts.

Webb has an unassuming sturdiness about him. I decide that it’s a fitting reflection of his personality. He’s stable and dedicated – almost detached – on the surface, but beneath that, is a man with real emotions and a passion that you’d never guess.

When he’s out the door, I reluctantly step into the shower and slowly wash my body. I spend extra time on *that* shoulder, and all the places I remember him kissing and sucking last night.

As I dry off, I hear the door open and Webb say, “It’s me.” I’m impressed that he’s showered and dressed already -- faster than a Marine. Although I was taking my time. Otherwise, I’m sure I would have beaten him.

Exiting the bathroom, I find him standing in the middle of the room, clean-shaven and fresh-looking, hands in the pockets of his shorts, and staring at me.

I flush with momentary modesty at being naked in front of him in full daylight.

“Wow,” is all he says as he smiles at me.

I stare back at him, wondering if we need to talk about this -- what it means, where it’s leading, what will happen when we get back to DC. But the thoughts are quickly pushed aside as he reaches out to touch me, and I feel the chemistry bubbling between us again.

Our kiss is leisurely and exploring; it lacks the heated searching our kisses had last night. Sliding his fingers over my still damp body as he backs away, Webb sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Go ahead, get dressed. I’ll wait.”

“Aren’t you supposed to want to watch me strip?” I tease.

“I want to watch you do *everything*.”

Not knowing what to say, or how exactly he meant the remark, I turn to find my bikini and slip it on. Wrapping my sarong around me like a dress and sliding into my sandals, it only takes a few minutes to finish getting ready.

We sit with Bob and Mitzi at breakfast, who spend half the time gushing about how they just *knew* that we would hit it off, and teasing that we’d better not forget their invitation to the wedding.

I play along, having fun with the charade. I’m enjoying playing Mary and Cabby now – they are a carefree couple, happy and excited about their newfound romance. Mary and Cabby enjoy a simplicity to their relationship that no matter how this turns out, Webb and I will never have.

Between Cabby and Mary, there are no jobs involving national security, no other relationships, or past history to impede their coupling. And by the way Webb is laughing and talking animatedly with Bob, I think he’s enjoying the pressure-free roles of Mary and Cabby too.

As we eat and talk, he brushes my knee now and then with his hand, occasionally winding his fingers around to the back of my leg to trace small circles there. It’s so distracting that when he does it, I have a hard time keeping up my end of the conversation.

Thoroughly appreciating the attention though, I slip off one of my sandals and slowly run my toes up and down his calf. And we’re practically making love with our touches under the table.

Bob tells us that Derek is leading a group excursion into town. Surely there might be a special someone we’d like to do a little shopping for, Mitzi says pointedly to Webb. I catch his eye and can see the grin playing on his lips as he feigns a moment of conspiracy with her.

Once in town, even out of the presence of the others, Webb and I continue our easy, light conversation, and I wonder if this is something that Mac and Webb can sustain as well as Mary and Cabby. I’m surprised to find a slight ache in my chest as I start to hope that we can.

We fall into an easy stroll, and hold hands as we walk through town talking quietly about the island’s history as a territory and protectorate, and the relatively few political troubles they’ve had since gaining their independence. It’s such a nice change to not be discussing a country overrun with terrorists or warlords.

Stopping at an outdoor vendor selling freshly cut sugar cane Webb buys me a stalk. I begin to suck on the cane and purposely catch his eye as I take my time swirling my tongue around the phallic treat. He looks back at me hungrily, takes my free hand, and leads me quickly away from the stand.

We make our way down a side street to a path traveling to the local beach. Almost reaching the shore, he pulls me off the trail.

“What’s going on Webb, are we being followed or something?”

“God I hope not,” he says spinning around and pinning me against a palm tree.

I finally catch on to his plan and I ask if he’d like a lick of my sugar cane.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he says bending his head forward to seductively take a lick of the cane before leaning in to kiss me, the sweet juice mingling between our mouths.

He straightens up and wipes a drop from the edge of my lips. I grab his hand, take his finger in my mouth, and mimic the earlier swirl of my tongue around the sugar cane stalk.

He groans as I release his finger and he lets it leisurely slide down my chin, tracing a line down my neck. When he finally reaches the top edge of my dress I can’t be still any longer. I grab his hips and pull him to me wanting to feel his weight, and I devour his mouth with kisses and assault his body with my hands.

Stepping out of one of my sandals, I start to hike one leg up around him and he grabs my foot placing my leg around the back of his waist. His cool soft hand feels so good on my foot, which is hot and tired from walking around town. And the difference in our skin temperatures is exhilarating and stimulating. I pull him even closer to me with that same leg, locking him against me.

We grind into each other for a few rough minutes until I loosen my hold on him just enough to reach the top of his shorts. Getting them down his legs just far enough, I have to put my leg down for a moment, as I slip off my bikini bottoms.

Webb lifts me up and I wrap both legs around him and he leans me back against the perfectly sloped palm. As he enters me I hear him moan my name, and he continues to whisper it over and over again as he thrusts into me and I grind back in response.

He reaches down between us, rubbing me in time to his movements, and immediately I’m almost there. As my muscles convulse and I let the shudders of my climax take over my body, he reaches around to grab the tree for extra leverage and in seconds he’s coming too.

He slips out of me and I shakily unwrap myself from his body, looking around for my bikini bottoms. Webb pulls them out of his shorts pocket and I find myself not surprised that he thought save them from dropping to the sandy ground. Clayton Webb is all about details.

In an hour, we meet up again with Mitzi and Bob at our agreed upon time. Mitzi drags me into several shops, asking me to try on some tacky tourist t-shirts so she can make sure that they’ll fit her granddaughters. I can’t say no to her, but I wonder what kind of busty grandkids she’s got, if *I’m* a similar size as she insists.

//WEBB//

Waking up with Mac really was like a dream. I kept my eyes shut as I woke up with my cock pressed hard against her, and tried to ease any tension between us by making a joke. 

But the awkwardness that I’d feared was non-existent, and as she playfully responded, I couldn’t wait to open my eyes to see us together, naked.

I’d rolled my eyes as Bob and Mitzi called us over to join them for breakfast, but was surprised at how much I enjoyed their company. I’d found it easy to be alone with Mac, and was nervous about being with her in front of other people now that we’d crossed that line that I was so concerned with.

Being with Mac and the Walkers was easy though. They had no reason not to accept Cabby and Mary as a couple, which made it hard to think of why it should be hard to accept Clay and Mac as a couple, and I liked that.

In town Mac and I walked leisurely together talking about anything, and nothing really. And I was struck by how little of that there is in my everyday life.

I attend social functions with my mother, and usually have a good time with her. We can talk openly and she’s well aware of my job and what it entails. But the companionship of a woman, a lover, is not something very familiar to me, and I found myself feeling like I couldn’t get enough of Mac’s company.

It wasn’t just the exciting and extremely satisfying sex we’d had, or the promise of more to come. I was being myself with her, and I wanted to keep being myself. I was weary of hiding my emotions, my feelings, *myself* from everyone. I wanted a peer, a companion, a partner, to share myself with.

But all thoughts of collegiality left my head as I watched her lick that sugar cane. I couldn’t wait to get her alone someplace. I was in awe of her sensuality as she sucked and licked my finger, and when she brought my hips to hers, kissing me with such passion, I was completely lost in her. And now, I will never look at another palm tree the same way again.

Back on the Beachcomber’s shuttle bus, Mac and I hold hands and make the ride back to the resort in a warm, comfortable silence. As I stare out the window at the cane fields and tropical landscape, I’m surprised at the sharpness that momentarily grips my stomach as I catch myself thinking that I could get used to having Mac next to me like this, all the time.

I’m not prepared for that line of thinking or the complications that go with it. I had been telling myself to think ahead no more than a few hours at a time with Mac, but the thought came unbidden and I was struggling to push it aside.

“You up for the topless beach when we get back,” I lean over and whispered to her, trying to steer my mind in another direction.

“Will I get another look at you in that Speedo?” she asks saucily.

“Now that you’re familiar with the merchandise, you mean?” I say, raising my eyebrows.

Twenty minutes later, after returning to the Beachcomber and excusing ourselves from Mitzi and Bob, who were all too understanding, I watch Mac approach me as I stand in the same spot where we’d first spotted each other the day before yesterday.

Later on, walking down to the water I notice the Quintanas lounging on the sand and looking *very* romantic. Mrs. Quintana’s tango ploy must have worked just as well as mine, and we exchange knowing smiles as Mac and I pass by.

We walk into the water, and swim, and splash, and body surf. Soon we find ourselves at the far end of the beach, where we can stand almost chest deep in the still, warm water near the edge of the reef.

“How about I return that favor now?” Mac says as she reaches out to find my cock.

I immediately look around to be sure we can’t be seen. Or at least, that Mac’s hand can’t be seen. And blood floods my groin, making me hard in her hand. 

“Oh yeah,” I manage to reply as I feel her scooting my Speedos down past my hips, to release my growing erection. 

Mac’s hand moving on my cock under the water creates such a different and delicious friction, and my brain is so distracted that I can’t decide whether to watch her hand through the distortion of the almost clear blue ocean, or to close my eyes. What I really want is to look into Mac’s eyes, showing her just what she’s doing to me, physically and emotionally. 

But as Mac continues to stroke me, we kiss with tongues darting, sliding, and caressing. And when my release finally pumps into the ocean, I lean my head on Mac’s shoulder and try to even out my breathing. I’m light-headed and the movement of the sea around us isn’t helping. But I can’t tell if my head is spinning from my orgasm or the thoughts I keep having about Mac and me. 

We spend the rest of the day at the beach, eat dinner in my bungalow, and spend the night slowly making love, which leaves me even more confused about what’s happening between us, and I wonder if Mac feels it happening too.

~Day Five~

//MAC//

Even after making love most of the night, we rise early and shower. Together.  
He soaps me up, and I do the same to him. Loving the way it turns our skin slick, I slide my hands over his body and watch his face as I massage his balls and again begin to pump my hand over his hard cock.

“Believe me, you’ve more than re-paid that debt,” he says, removing my hand, as he turns me around.

I feel his erection pressing against my backside as his soapy hands slide around my waist. One migrates to my breast where he squeezes my nipple, and I encourage him with a groan. With his other hand, he makes his way past my soapy curls to find my clit.

He continues his attentions to my breast, while increasing the friction on my sex, and I lean my arms on the cool tiles of the shower for balance as he sends me over the edge.

As I recover, I reach behind me and hold him close. I lean my head back and can feel him resting his cheek on my shoulder.

“Your turn,” I say finally, and I can feel him grin against me.

I strain my neck around to kiss him, my tongue swirling around his as I reach for his cock. With one foot, he taps my feet apart, and I spread them wide in response. I let him go, freeing my hands to brace myself on the tile wall as I bend over.

When I feel him enter me, we both let out a gasp. It’s such a primal position, and the contact that his cock makes inside me is almost forceful, but the way he is touching me is so gentle.

With that dichotomy of sensations, Webb pounds into me and I cry out his name as he comes hard inside me. Afterwards, he rests on my back and continues to caress me lazily for a few minutes.

Quickly rinsing himself off, Webb lets me have the shower to myself. I close my eyes, wanting to gain some perspective on the past few days.

As I wash, I acknowledge the slight soreness between my legs from all the sex we’ve been having, and the ache in my leg muscles from our encounter with the palm tree yesterday. But I keep coming back to the nagging in the back of my head that’s wondering what will happen when we get home.

Breathing deeply, I tell myself to enjoy the rest of my time here. And I realize that no matter what happens, I’ll be forever grateful for this time with Webb. I have absolutely no regrets. In fact, I feel uncommonly lucky to have gotten past Webb’s protective exterior to have had the pleasure of experiencing him this way.

“And what a pleasure it’s been,” I say out loud to myself, although I can’t stop the feelings of something not far from *need* as I think about him.

We spend the day exploring the Beachcomber’s property, and walking through the adjacent nature preserve. The trail follows the water until tall cliffs take over the shoreline and we have to head inland, climbing up to a bluff overlooking the small bay that houses the resort.

Webb excuses himself for a minute and I assume he’s headed into the brush to relieve himself. I sit almost at the edge of the drop-off and let my gaze rest on the endless horizon of ocean, which is fringed with enormous puffy white clouds.

I feel as if I’m sitting as tall as they are, and a sense of calm and peace with my life that I’ve never before felt settles over me.

Ever since I joined the Marines I’ve struggled to leave my past behind. I know I will deal with my alcoholism every day for the rest of my life, but there’s been something more than that preventing me from finding real peace of mind.

I assume it’s the baggage of my past, and the relationships of my more present. But sitting here now, I feel free of all that.

In spite of years in the Corps, becoming a damn good lawyer, prosecuting and defending hundreds of cases -- including trying one of the most deadly terrorists in the world -- it’s ironic that I had to come thousands of miles to the middle of the ocean, in order to find whatever it was that I needed to let myself be happy.

I hear Webb come back to where I’m resting and he drops to the ground, straddling his legs around me and pulling me back to rest on his chest. We sit in silence like that for a while, content to look at the view, feel the ocean breeze rise from below, and just be together.

“Here, I thought you might be getting hungry,” he says suddenly, passing me a mango.

“What did you do, ‘Tarzan Boy,’ climb a tree?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I did.”

He feigns insult, grabs the mango back from me, and produces a small knife from his pocket to slice one of the mangos for us to eat.

‘Always prepared,’ I think, taking a piece from him and savoring the fresh, juicy fruit.

We walk the three miles back to the Beachcomber and eat a full lunch before returning to his bungalow. I kick my shoes off and rub my feet; I’m hot and sweaty, and tired from the heat and humidity.

“Why don’t you rinse off,” Webb suggests, and I take him up on the offer.

As I towel off, he steps under the water to take his turn. I start across the room and stop in my tracks as I spot one of his signature three-piece suits hanging in the closet.

“Don’t leave home without it,” I say out loud to myself.

The incongruity of the garment in this tropical locale really is kind of funny. But the sight of that suit brings my mind back to our impending departure tomorrow.

It’s coming too soon, I want another week here. I want more time with Webb.

But I push aside the questions and the confusing feelings as I pad on my bare feet out to the back porch of the bungalow. I sit naked in the hammock there and wait for him to come out.

I watch as Webb emerges naked from the bathroom and I see a look of panic worry the contours of his face as he looks around the room, not seeing me there.

He finally swings his head around to see me lying in wait for him and he grins wide, his eyes sparkling.

Webb pulls the knife out of his shorts and picks up another one of the mangos as he walks to me. He kneels down and I angle my body towards his, so that I’m sitting almost perpendicular in the hammock.

I love the ease with which we sit on the porch, fully naked, simply enjoying the afternoon and the fresh fruit; it feels completely comfortable and natural to be together this way.

Webb meticulously peels the mango and proceeds to cut bite size pieces out of it. He hands them to me one at a time, sometimes feeding them to me, letting his fingers linger on my lips.

I take one of the pieces and place it on my chest. He looks at me, slightly puzzled, but hands me another piece anyway. I put this one on my abdomen. The next one goes lower, and finally he catches on.

He hands me several more pieces, which I strategically place on my body; and I wait for him, taking one from my stomach to place it between my teeth, grinning at him in an invitation to bite it from my lips.

And he does not disappoint.

//WEBB//

As far as we’ve been from the crowds of civilization this week, it was nice to be truly away from everything. Walking in the dense quiet of a tropical forest makes you feel like you’re the first person to explore its natural beauty. And it brings your place in the world into a finer perspective.

As I came back from picking the mangos, I paused for a minute to watch Mac. I could tell she was lost in thought, probably also affected by the beautiful isolation of the surroundings. And I couldn’t help hoping that it was me she was thinking about.

We happily shared one of the mangos before making the hike back, anxious to refresh ourselves from the day’s heat and exercise.

While in the shower, the demanding nature of my job crept back into my consciousness as I realized that I’d be flying on to Dubrovnik the next day.

Mac and I would be going in opposite directions. While she’s flying east and headed for home, I’ll be continuing on west where duty calls.

I hoped that when we were together again geographically…Well, I wasn’t sure what to think, or even how to begin to imagine interacting with her in Washington after this.

Taking a deep breath as I shut off the water, I tried not to project into the future. I wanted to concentrate on the next 24 hours.

As I came out of the bathroom, I thought Mac had gone, and I felt a wave of regret fall over me. We still had the rest of the afternoon and the night together; I wasn’t ready for her to leave me yet.

Grinning as I spotted her lying naked on the hammock, I grabbed another mango to share with her as we cooled off in the ocean breeze.

It took me a minute to figure out what she was doing with those pieces of fruit, but I finally got the message. Loud and clear.

As I take the first bite from between her teeth, I’m careful not to disturb the other pieces on her body. I plan on getting to those, one at a time.

After kissing her deeply, sharing a mouthful of mango juice, I proceed to my next target. The one on her shoulder. I smile at how that shoulder of hers has taken on a special significance for us.

Nibbling her there for a moment, I move on to the fruit sitting over her belly button. I slurp it up, making sure to sweep the juice from her navel as I do.

This produces a belly laugh from Mac, and I admonish her not to disturb the fruit buffet she’s laid out for me, “I’m not done eating.”

“I sure hope not,” she shoots back, pointedly.

Taking my time with the few remaining pieces of mango, I leave the one placed just above her sex for last. And finally taking it in my teeth, I slide it farther down, letting the juice coat her folds, which are already moist from her own juices.

I swallow the fruit slice as I savor the mix of flavors of Mac and mango, and she lets a moan of pleasure escape her lips as I do. Reaching my hand up to fondle her breasts and pinch at her nipples, she threads her fingers through my hair, urging me on.

Slipping two fingers inside her as I continue to lick and suck at her clit, I feel her legs rhythmically tensing around my neck and shoulders. Pushing my head tighter against her sex, she’s soon vocalizing her release as the contractions take over control of her muscles.

After licking up the last of her juices, still faintly tasting of mango, I stand up and lean down to kiss her. She eagerly tastes herself on my lips and in my mouth. The act is so sexy, my cock jumps as her tongue sweeps through my mouth. “God, I want you,” I say.

Helping her up, we go back inside to the bed, where she pushes me down and straddles my hips. Balancing herself just over my erection, I reach for her and guide her down onto me.

Her inner muscles are still taut from her climax, and within minutes I’m throwing my head back and feeling the waves of my own orgasm consume me.

We shower all over again, and she leaves to change her clothes for dinner. After she’s been gone for only five minutes, I already feel lonely without her.

~Night Five~ Last Dance

//MAC//

As I dress for dinner, the reality of the outside world comes crowding into my brain -- I’m going home tomorrow. Home means going back to a world of terrorists and a country at war, and back to work and my role in that war.

But it also means “away from Webb.”

The events of this week were unexpected, to say the least -- not just physically, but emotionally too. Webb’s shown how different he can be off-duty and away from work. The trouble is with Webb, off-duty and away from work are rare occurrences.

But maybe it makes a difference just knowing that he *is* different. That beneath the tin-man exterior there are some soft, tender places. And by showing some of that vulnerability, he’s shed a bit of his armor for me.

I begin to allow the possibility that he’s someone I could let my guard down with too, in a way I haven’t with anyone else. Maybe I already have.

I’m certain that he’s fully vetted me for each and every mission I’ve been involved with. Webb knows my past, and my more recent history. I have no doubt he’s kept close tabs on my life, my work, and my relationships.

So for all the things in my distant, and not so distant, past that I could be embarrassed about, he’s seen all my skeletons already. Perhaps that’s why it’s been so easy with him this week.

I hardly know anything about Webb’s personal life, and I know very few specifics about his professional dealings. I do know that he’s had to make hard choices, often involving the lives – and deaths – of both combatants and civilians. And he carries that burden with him, paying for mistakes he’s made.

Maybe with each other we can both leave our demons behind.

Returning to DC also means returning to my non-relationship relationship with Harm – which was one of my chief reasons for coming on this vacation in the first place. He and I have been through so much together, and yet we can’t seem to get past even the *possibility* of exploring a romantic relationship.

I’m coming to believe that there might be a point when it’s just too late. Too much time has passed, too many opportunities have gone un-explored. If it were meant to be, it would have worked itself out.

Now, not only do Harm and I have whatever issues prevented us from taking that final step in the first place, but we’ve also created baggage of our own. And as much as I wanted it, or thought I did, perhaps starting back at the beginning is just not possible.

I’m surprised that I don’t feel more regret or sadness thinking of Harm in that way – in the past tense. But it feels as if I’ve just given myself permission to move on.

Even through my engagement with Mic, I still held onto the idea of Harm and me. Now I feel free of that burden. The games, the waiting, the guessing, and the dancing around have been exhausting.

I know that Harm and I will always be close, and involved in each other’s lives. And that’s important to me. There’s a twinge of nostalgia, but also I feel like a weight’s been lifted off my shoulders. I feel almost a couple of hundred pounds, and one flight suit, lighter.

Letting that go, I smile to myself as I let my mind wander back over the past week. I marvel at the intensity and confidence that Webb has. I never want to compare them -- my relationships with Harm and Webb have been so different. But they are so similar, and yet so unlike, that I can’t help it.

Harm’s character-defining confidence is really an arrogance born of insecurities and a desire for emotional distance. Webb’s confidence is an intensity stemming from necessity and self-preservation.

Webb freely chose his job, and dealt with the consequences of that choice. Harm’s life has been a consequence of his father’s disappearance, which has driven him to make the life choices he has.

I realize how all these years I’ve mistaken Webb’s emotional distance for arrogance and disdain. But I realize now, that it’s how he survives in a job that forces such emotional isolation.

Although I now feel freed from the burden of Harmon Rabb, I find myself hesitantly longing for something new I didn’t know I wanted. And some*one* I’m not sure I can have: Webb.

I don’t even know what he wants. And even if we both want this, I’m not certain what *this* is, or what it will -- or can -- become back in Washington.

Neither of us has said a word about it. We’ve talked about work, JAG, the CIA, Washington, and the mutual friends we have. But we’ve carefully avoided any real conversation about what’s going on between us, and what the ramifications are. Or what we want them to be.

Here in this remote reality, I think we haven’t wanted to burst the bubble of this “fantasy island.”   
But I can’t help re-playing a dozen quiet moments that have passed between us that spoke louder than any words we haven’t uttered – a look between us, a touch under the table, the small caresses and attention to the tiniest details of each other’s bodies.

I’m really not getting myself anywhere by letting my mind reel over and over something I have no answers to. So I quickly finish getting ready, putting on a short, simple blue cocktail dress before I leave.

I walk the short distance to meet Webb in front of his bungalow. I wait in a shadow on the side of the path to watch him emerge from the door and take the five steps down to the walkway. He’s got on a pressed pair of sand colored pants and a dusty green button down shirt.

I relish the opportunity to watch him unnoticed. I love the way he moves, and knowing the way his body feels under those clothes, I imagine him coming to JAG Headquarters for a meeting and watching him enter the Admiral’s office -- all I’ll be able to think about is what’s going on under his three-piece suit.

But he’s pacing nervously back and forth looking for me now, and I wonder if our departure tomorrow is on his mind too.

“Hey,” I say, coming out from the shadows.

“Hey, yourself,” he says back, almost shyly, holding out his hand to me.

We link our fingers together and walk to dinner, meeting the Walkers and the Quintanas as we’d agreed to earlier.

Being social like this with Webb on our last night is bittersweet for me. With everything we do tonight, I’ll be wondering if it will be the last time, and part of me doesn’t want to share this time with anyone.

I’m actually sad to be saying farewell to our fellow Beachcomber vacationers too. They’ve been such a part of my experience here. And they’ll forever be linked in my mind with Webb.

So I sit back and try to enjoy myself in the company of these people who’ve made me feel relaxed and welcome as Mary Layton. These people who have encouraged Mary and Cabby to find some romance together on this island, and for that I’m grateful.

Webb seems to be getting nostalgic too; he’s talking with the Walkers about their next vacation and agreeing to visit the Quintanas in Argentina. I wonder if he’ll really show up at their house sometime posing as Cabby, but really needing help with some mission. I’d love to see that.

As we finish dinner, Derek stops at our table to remind us about the dancing and Karaoke on the patio later. I slip out, telling Webb I’m going to the ladies room and that I’ll meet the group outside…but I’ve got something else in mind.

I catch Derek as he’s setting up the sound system, and I ask him to play a song for me. I’ve got one last Karaoke in me, and I know just the song.

I disappear into the restroom for a few minutes and when I look back out on the patio, Webb is sitting at a table, sipping something out of a pineapple that has a large paper umbrella sticking out of it.

I try to memorize the image, taking a mental snapshot to file away as another unbelievable Webb memory – along with the pictures in my mind of him in a Speedo, out of a Speedo, on top of me, under me, throwing his head back and calling my name as he climaxes inside me…

I have to stop my inner-slide show before I end up just dragging him onto the beach and tearing his clothes off. Not a moment too soon, Derek announces the first Karaoke performance of the evening, and with that, I step out and take the stage as the piano intro to the song fades in.

~Nobody does it better  
Makes me feel sad for the rest  
Nobody does it half as good as you  
Baby you're the best~

The looks that pass across Webb’s face when he realizes what’s happening range from shy and embarrassed to happy, flattered, and sad all at the same time.

It’s a silly song and I really meant for it to be a fun prank. But he’s looking so serious and confused it’s breaking my heart. So I try to go easy on the play-acting with him, and concentrate on Nick and Mike instead, who seem quite pleased to have me dancing and singing in front of their table.

~I wasn't looking  
But somehow you found me  
I tried to hide from your love light  
But like heaven above me  
The spy who loved me  
Is keeping all my secrets safe tonight~

I can’t help it -- I look right at Webb as I deliver the line, “the spy who loved me.” And I realize that I do want him to love me – I don’t think I can help that either.

~And nobody does it better  
Though sometimes I wish someone could  
Nobody does it quite the way you do  
Why’d you have to be so good?~

~The way that you hold me, whenever you hold me  
There's some kind of magic inside you  
That keeps me from running  
But just keep it coming  
How’d you learn to do the things you do?~

I get through the rest of the song nervously avoiding Webb. I sashay up to Bob, and flirt with Bengt, and Inger too.

But Webb and I keep meeting each other’s glances, and as I near the end of the song, I’m not sure what to think. I hope I haven’t shattered the serenity of our island fling.

~And nobody does it better  
Makes me feel sad for the rest  
Nobody does it half as good as you  
Baby, baby, baby you're the best~

I finish the song, hand the mic back to Derek, and start towards Webb. But he’s gone and I’m sure now that I’ve scared him off completely.

//WEBB//

It’s not that I haven't had lovers or even been on missions where I’ve gotten emotionally involved. But I’m expertly practiced at hiding who I really am. I’ve never been involved with a woman who knew the truth about what I did for a living.

Not ever letting anyone in that far, I’ve come to fear that kind of intimacy, even if my job didn’t prohibit it. I wonder sometimes if it’s too late for me.

But Mac’s restored my faith in my ability to open up. My *desire* to open up. There hasn’t ever been anyone else who’s made me want to do that.

I’ve started reminding myself that no matter what happens between us when we return to our daily lives, she’s shown me a part of myself that I didn’t know was still in me -- the ability to love and trust.

All this was going through my mind as I waited outside my bungalow for Mac before dinner. And when she came down the path, I tried not to let on that I had been thinking so seriously about us.

While we were at dinner, it hit me that I’m going to miss this stint as Cabby. It’s been a relief to let my guard down. But I know that my work, which usually prevents such relaxation, is my life and my passion -- although I’m coming to realize that there are other things that I can feel passionately about.

Dinner was delicious and the easy company of the Quintanas and Walkers made me even more regretful about having to leave tomorrow. I was really enjoying this last evening and was even considering doing a little Karaoke. Then Mac came out and sang that awful song.

I’d like to say a dozen beautiful women have played that song for me. The truth is I can’t imagine that any woman has thought such complimentary things about me as a lover.

So as absurd as it was, I was truly touched. And it scared me, I didn’t know what to think or how to react, it froze me in my tracks.

This whole week with Mac has been amazing, erotic, exciting, loving, and it’s been confusing. I feel deeply for her, and I hope she knows that this spy *does* love her, even if I don’t have the nerve to tell her. But that thought leaves a bad taste in my mouth…Rabb.

The bastard may have thought he loved Mac, maybe he still thinks he does. But from my viewpoint, it’s been a selfish affection, and Mac deserves so much more than that.

Not wanting to get bogged down thinking about Rabb, I concentrate on the rest of Mac’s performance. I try to laugh along with Bob and Mitzi about what fun it looks like Mac is having. But really, she looks as nervous as I feel.

Mac’s song fades out and Derek starts the dance music. But before Mac has a chance to walk back to our table, I slip out. I’ve got something planned for her as well. One last dance.

By the time I come back from talking with Derek, Mac is dancing with Nick and Mike and I stop to admire her beautiful shape and the way she moves. I walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her.

She knows it’s me right away, and there’s not a hint of a flinch from her. I guess our game of sneaking up on each other is moot now. We’ve become familiar with each other’s bodies, scents, and something else intangible that adds up to the intuition of knowing when a lover is close by.

As the music changes, and the song I requested comes on, she turns in my arms and smiles at me, making me feel warm and nervous, like a kid with a crush on his teacher. And I love it.

~Somewhere beyond the sea  
Somewhere waiting for me  
My lover stands on golden sands  
And watches the ships that go sailing~

We dance close and I sing playfully in her ear. My heart is pounding in my chest as we dance, and I don’t know if it’s because I really want to tell her how I feel but am afraid of how she’ll react, or if it’s just a result of being in her arms.

~Somewhere beyond the sea  
She’s there watching for me  
If I could fly like birds on high  
Then straight to her arms I’d go sailing~

“Well, Mac this is it,” I say, trying to open up the conversation, not entirely sure how I want it to proceed.

“Farewell Beachcomber. Bye, bye Speedo,” she laughs, with just a touch of nervousness in her voice.

“Don’t you think we should talk about…this?” I say, gesturing between us. I’m almost hurt that she appears to be relatively lighthearted about our last night together.

“I’m not sure we should,” she says hesitantly, “I don’t want to spend tonight over-analyzing. I just want to enjoy it. You.”

I relent, wondering if we’ll ever have another opportunity to talk about what’s happened between us or if we’ll both let it slip into the past forever.

~It’s far beyond a star  
It’s near beyond the moon  
I know beyond a doubt  
My heart will lead me there soon~

~We’ll meet, beyond the shore  
We’ll kiss just as before  
Happy we’ll feel beyond the sea  
And never again I’ll go sailing~

I try to ease back into the festive mood of the night, and I pull her closer to me. I can’t completely let it go though.

“I don’t want you to look back on this as just a tropical fling with Cabby Welton,” I say hoping that she’ll understand what I’m trying to convey.

“Does that mean I’ve been with the real Clayton Webb all week? The one beneath the trench coats, the three piece suits…the Speedo?” she says transitioning the conversation from anything serious it might have become, into something erotic and teasing.

~I know beyond a doubt  
My heart will lead me there soon~

~We’ll meet, I know we’ll meet, beyond the shore  
We’ll kiss just as before  
Happy we’ll feel beyond the sea  
And never again I’ll go sailing  
No more sailing, so long sailing  
Bye, bye sailing~

As she presses her hips into mine she’s rather convincing, and I begin to lose any desire to keep talking. When the song ends we say our goodnights to everyone, and get knowing winks as we walk in the direction of the bungalows.

Once we’re inside her bungalow, we stop talking altogether. In silence, I undress her, slipping the straps of her dress off her shoulder, un-zipping the back, and letting the silky material fall to the floor.

She’s only wearing a skimpy pair of panties that she removes as I begin to caress her skin, which is now a rich brown from our time in the sun.

She closes her eyes as I study her body, softly running my hands everywhere. As I comb my fingers through her hair, she tilts her head back and I begin to kiss and nibble at her neck.

Smiling and uttering a soft “hmmm,” Mac lifts her hands to my shirt to unbutton it.

I break from kissing her neck giving her better access, and she mimics my actions by slowly undressing me. I don’t close my eyes though, I want to watch her every move. I want to remember this.

Finally, we’re both naked and breathing hard, even though our movements have been almost painfully slow. We sink to the bed and make slow, almost heartbreaking love.

I settle between her legs, filling her with my hardness and I hold myself steady. Mac looks up at me, swallowing hard, and her eyes search mine. I’m not sure what she’s looking for, but I hope she’s found it.

“Webb,” she says simply.

We thread our fingers tightly together and begin a rhythm with our hips that we match with our clenching hands, and we work together toward release.

She says my name just one more time as her climax begins; and my orgasm follows as I let her waves take me over as well.

We still say nothing as we fall asleep holding each other. It’s wonderful and sad all at the same time. And I didn’t know I could ever feel this way.

~Day Six~ Take, Take Me Home

//MAC//

Webb told me this morning as I watched him pack, that he’s flying west today. There’s an assignment he has to follow up on.

I should have suspected when I saw the suit in his closet. I guess I just didn’t want to think about us going back to our jobs.

I’ve gotten to know Webb this week with no suits and no uniforms. It scared me to feel like I might not know him once he puts that suit on.

This morning I woke up in his arms, as I have for the past two days. And again I watched him sleep while the sun came up.

I knew he had wanted to talk last night. I just wasn’t ready to let go of this -- whatever *this* is. And I was afraid that having some kind of conversation last night might have ruined what’s come so easily this week. And I wasn’t ready to give that up.

I’m still not. In the light of morning, even more than last night, I didn’t know what to say.

When he woke up, we made love again, fast and hard, pouring all our emotions into the physical act. I was feeling so many things – confusion, regret, hope, frustration, love.

An hour later, I’m already showered and packed, feeling proud of my one suitcase and speedy timing.

Now I have nothing to do but watch Webb. He’s got the suit on, but I find that either he’s still in his “Cabby” mode, or I just never paid much attention before now to how sexy those suits can be. I’m relieved to find that he still seems like the Webb I’ve come to know this week.

We make slightly strained small-talk as he shuttles between the closet, his suitcase, and the bathroom. He’s meticulous about the way his clothes are folded and placed in his luggage.

I picture him unpacking at his destination, neatly repeating this same process in reverse order. He hasn’t told me where he’s going or what the mission is, and part of me doesn’t want to know.

I don’t want to think about what might await him there. Whether it’s someone at the other end of a weapon, or another woman he’ll be with -- for work or otherwise.

He finally zips up the last of his bags and with him in his suit, and me in casual slacks and a cotton top, we share a taxi to the airport.

As we ride in silence, holding hands, I keep thinking that it’s now or never. I should say something, but it’s too late to start a conversation. It’s ironic that all of a sudden I have so many things I want to say, but I can’t bring myself to speak.

We check our luggage at our respective airline counters and since his flight leaves 25 minutes after mine, he walks me to my gate.

As we make our way through the small airport, he’s got his arm protectively around me, his thumb circling intently on my shoulder.

My flight begins boarding just as we arrive, and I turn to him, reaching forward to brush the hair framing his face. We lean in for a final kiss, and I have to restrain myself from holding onto him for too long.

As he releases me from his embrace, Webb puts his lips to my ear, “I love you.”

Before I can say anything or even react, he’s turned from me and all I can do is watch him walk away.

Once on the plane, I settle into my seat, thankful that the rest of my row is empty. I reach into my carry on bag for my paperback, and find a small jewelry box. I open it to see a small pair of white coral stud earrings.

I laugh as I realize that Mitzi must have been distracting me on purpose, making me try on all those t-shirts for her grandkids. I should have known her 13-year-old granddaughter didn’t have my bust size.

I put the earrings on, and doze until the flight attendant asks me if I want headphones for the movie. Inquiring what the in-flight film is, she replies, “The Spy Who Loved Me.”

Figures. But at least I’ll have that to keep me company as I return home feeling a little lonely, and little empty inside.

//WEBB//

I kept my eyes closed as long as I could this morning, willing my breathing to stay even so Mac wouldn’t know I was awake. I wanted to lie with her as long as possible, feeling her warmth and breathing her scent, and the scent of us together.

When I finally moved, it was to kiss her. And from that kiss, we fell into a hot, fast-paced assault on each other’s bodies. Every slow touch we exchanged last night was replaced with heated almost rough gestures this morning.

Later, I took as long as I could while packing, knowing that when I was through, we’d have to make the taxi ride to the airport. I felt the heavy pressure of time ticking away, and simply didn’t want to go.

We were quiet on the way to the airport, and while she was finding her gate listed on the marquee, I slipped my little gift into her bag.

I know it was uncharacteristically sappy of me. But in my own defense, Bob made me do it. He insisted that I buy “Mary” a gift. And even though Bob thought them a decidedly un-romantic selection, I’d warmed to the idea of a token gift for Mac, and wanted something that she could wear with her uniform.

Parting from her at her gate, Mac repeated one last time the sweep of her hand across my hair. And as we kissed, I tried to put all my feelings into the too-brief contact.

Thoughts of my assignment in Dubrovnik had started to filter into my head. I’ve known the whole time that it will likely be a dangerous situation, but all of a sudden, it was crucial for me to tell Mac how I feel about her.

“I love you,” I said, not giving her time to respond or even see my face. I walk quickly away and make my way to the other end of the terminal to wait for my flight.

Now I sit in my first-class window seat, on a plane headed for God knows what. And for the first time, I feel like I have more to come home to than my mother and my fish. At least I hope I do.

~Back Home~ Somewhere, Beyond the Sea

//MAC//

It’s the end of my first week back at work since returning from vacation, and I haven’t heard from Webb. Not that I really expected to. Well, maybe I did, especially given the way we left things at the airport.

Part of me is angry, feeling that he at least owes me the courtesy of an explanation for his last minute declaration. But mostly I’m sad and a little worried. I have no idea where he is or if the assignment he’s on is dangerous. And I find myself really missing him in my bed at night. It leaves me with an ache in my chest that I can’t quite shake.

Lost in thought and absently mindedly playing with the earrings from Webb – which I’ve been wearing all week -- I jerk my head up as Tiner pounds on the frame of my open office door.

“Ma’am?” he says emphatically.

“Yes Tiner, what is it?” I say a little too harshly.

“I’ve been knocking for a couple of minutes, I guess you didn’t hear me.”

“Sorry Tiner, I’m just a little distracted,” it’s only then that I realize that he’s holding a large basket of fruit in his hands.

“Tiner, what are you holding?”

“This just came for you, Ma’am. Where would you like it?”

I tell him to set the thing on my desk and I negotiate around a palm frond and a pineapple to find the card wedged between two mangos. I figure it’s from the Beachcomber, thanking me for spending my American dollars and asking when I’ll be returning.

As I read the card, my heart starts to pound and a week’s worth of memories come flooding back to me.

The card is typed, obviously ordered by someone over the phone. It reads, “I meant what I said,” and it’s signed “Cabby Welton,” with a phone number typed in under the name.

“Meet someone new on vacation, Mac?” Harm sticks his head into my office and inquires with that ‘feel sorry for me’ tone in his voice.

“Someone new?” I question, not sure how to answer, “Not exactly,” I finally reply as I turn my back on him to read the card again.

//WEBB//

It’s the middle of the night and it should have been hours since the fruit basket was delivered. I wonder if I’ve made a huge ass of myself.

She’s probably already told Rabb all about it, leaving out the sex I suspect, concentrating on the part of the story where I turn up in a Speedo. Soon Harriet will be telling Tiner, who will tell the Admiral, who’ll scold Tiner for gossiping, but will love the story nonetheless.

And I just know I’ll be the butt of the office jokes at JAG for some time to come. Not that I already haven’t been, but the thought still stings. Maybe I’ll request an overseas post -- someplace with no phones, and definitely no palm trees or mangos.

As my cell phone starts to ring with its staccato beeps, I sit up in bed with a start. Looking at the number on the caller id, my insides jump and my heart thuds loudly as I flip it open to answer with a smile, “Hello, Miss Layton.”

END


End file.
